General Information about climbing.
My son Sam came to me during the summer last year and announced that he would like to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro right after he graduated from high school. Having travelled fairly widely myself, and believing in the good that exposure to other cultures brings to anyone, I thought this was a good idea. Add to it my being somewhat of a plan-in-advance type, I knew I had two years to get ready,
Valentine’s Day. Week nine in Patagonia. Day nine in a snow cave. Dean and I haven’t spoken a word since we woke up. This is hands-down the most unromantic day of my life. I drop tears silently. I hate Dean. I hate Patagonia. I fantasize about being in a nice clean house, with a nice clean boyfriend who has just brought me a huge, lovely smelling bouquet of flowers. I am certain that at this very moment every girl in the Western world is wearing a dress and being showered with valentine gifts. I’ve been in this one-piece suit for months. Yesterday I took off my shell pants, and the coating was rotted out inside the crotch. I always thought that was just a figure of speech. Why am I here? I hate this snow cave. I hate myself. I hate everything. I can’t believe I’m wasting my twenties like this. I lie corpselike in my damp sleeping bag and soak the top with tears, adding to the condensation problem and filling the bivy tent with a cloud of misery and self-pity. Dean is comatose. I can’t even imagine good weather anymore.
The setting sun’s heat warms you as you reach for one of the last holds at the top of a climb. A gentle breeze cools the sweat from your body. Your hand sticks to the rock like a spider. Your heart beats ferociously and your muscles scream as you make the final push to the top. As you turn around, the lights of the city below begin to sparkle one by one, like fireflies on a summer’s night. A smile is inevitable and beams across your face. You did it, and it was amazing.
It’s a slippery slope (pun intended) in making any list of books, albums, or favorites of anything. Such lists are almost entirely a reflection of the list-maker’s preference, and representative of his/her experience. It is a wholly subjective exercise, and usually met with skepticism, and the inevitable: “but you left so-and-so (who wrote the greatest book ever), off the list!” And one could never deem any collection of climbing literature a definitive ‘best of’ list – the genre has too many good authors in a myriad of experiences for that. But a reading list of recommended titles is a place to start if you’ve recently started climbing and want to know more of its story, or, have climbed for years and just haven’t read much on the subject. Maybe you just enjoy reading as an ‘armchair mountaineer’ and want to know more. If any of these describe you, then consider the selections below.
The Tatoosh Range in the Central Washington Cascades lives in the shadow of Mt. Rainier, both figuratively and literally. In the park, approximately 7 miles south of ‘big brother’ Rainier, the peaks of the Tatoosh are well worth a visit. Most of them can be bagged via hiking routes in the summer, unless a more technical route is chosen. There are two distinct ‘areas’ of the Tatoosh Range, and while an energetic party can actually summit several of them in a long-day traverse of the Range, I’ve separated them here based on your approach. You’ll need a basic alpine set-up, ax and crampons, a half-rope will suffice for most parties.
Climbing might seem daunting. I know. I teach new climbers to swallow their fears and pull on plastic holds 35 feet above the ground. But these climbers have made it over the hump. They have elbowed their way through the strange and pricey gear. They have decided to step out of their comfort zone, and most importantly they have decided to look past the stereotype. The attitude beaning hipster with a harness is often the most common reason potential climbers either back out of the gym door, or decide to stay grounded while their buddies dance on the rock in front of them. Personal sports are fueled by ego, and climbing has it’s fair share.
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