I forget sometimes, which is mostly a good thing, how most people who know me regard much of my behaviour. As far back as I can remember, I have mostly been on the fringes looking in. These memories resurfaced for me last week as I faced daunting ascents up mountains, that from their base seemed, at first glance, insurmountable. I don’t know if I have told the story on this blog before (I think I have) of how I got into mountain climbing. I really never had any burning desire to do it. My first experience with climbing happened when I was about twenty, and attending the University of Lethbridge. One of my management profs asked me whether I wanted to go climbing with him. I thought it sounded like fun, and we ended up in Waterton Lake National Park, climbing the face of Bears Hump. The Bears Hump is a small formation in the middle of the park and is roughly 200 meters in elevation. Composed of limestone and dolomite, it isn't all that conducive to sport climbing and my prof had traditional gear with which to make the climb. I had never even had a climbing harness on prior to this event (said harness now is hanging on my son’s bedroom wall as the relic that it truly is). As we made our way up that sharp crag we got to what must have been the sixth and final pitch. My professor attempted to climb the last section twice but returned both times declaring that we were going to have to make our way down, as he was having a mental block that day and couldn’t complete leading the final pitch. My immediate response to that was something like “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, WE CAN’T GO DOWN, WE ARE ALMOST AT THE TOP”. Somehow I convinced him to let me take the lead. Knowing what I know now about climbing it was a fool’s errand, but I didn’t know what I didn’t know. He knew though and never should have let me lead that final pitch. Regardless, I grabbed the gear, and with some basic instruction, started my way up the pitch navigating the unknown that was hanging above me. I actually don’t remember much about that experience. I remember being focused, and intense about not falling. I don’t remember placing the gear, or whether I was scared or not. I remember the exhilaration of getting to the top and looking at my hands and discovering that they were bleeding. I remember my prof getting to the top and being white as a ghost, and telling me one the way down that I had placed very sketchy gear on the way to the top. What did I know, I had never climbed before!
Perhaps that experience was a bit of a foreshadow for my life to come. I didn’t climb again, not really, until after turning fifty. I did a bit of scrambling with my late cousin Josh, he was very much into climbing. I was probably in my early thirties at the time, but after he died in a climbing accident, I lost interest. It wasn’t until my son and I watched the film Free Solo that we got back into climbing. My son came out of the movie theatre after watching Alex Honnold free solo the face of El Capitan and said “Dad, I want to do that!” and my response was HELL NO! that was batshit crazy. But, I also knew that I wanted to spend time with my kid, and I had also declared at my fiftieth that the next decade of my life was to be the “Decade of Adventure”. So we started to climb, at first indoors, and then slowly we took it outside. Two years later, and I am doing a week-long alpine climbing trip, being flown in by helicopter, sleeping in a tent (yes me in a tent for seven nights), and climbing stuff that mostly scares the shit out of me.
I recently told someone that it isn’t the absence of fear that marks courage and strength but the ability to act and stand in the face of it. Starting a business from nothing, making hard decisions along the way that impact other people’s lives and your own ego, and yes standing at the base of a mountain looking up 800 meters to the summit and taking that first step up, are all examples of moving into fear, and through it.
My good friend Tim who is the principal of Girth Hitch Guiding and an apprentice ACMG Alpine Guide was on my most recent trip to the Monashees. He actually was the reason that I even went. In many ways, over the past two years, our relationship has developed into the place where I consider him my younger brother. As such, we can also get under each other’s skin (as siblings are prone to do) and this was also the case last week. At the end of the week, Tim was to lead me up the ridge of Mount Hugin, and he wanted to take me across the saddle back connecting Mount Munin, and then up to its summit. As we began our day and made our way up to the first pitch, I found time and the courage to let him know what I was experiencing and how the impending climb and lack of agency were making me feel. If you have read this blog at all, you know by now that I am no NINJA when it comes to dealing with my emotions. WIth that said, I had been thinking about my emotional response to climbing that week and was beginning to get some insight. What I was discovering is that the fear associated with the climbs were taking me back to my younger self (maybe twelvish) and the emotions of insecurity and inadequacy were bubbling up. I was reacting to those, and my friend Tim, who wanted to ensure that I had an epic week, and was wanting me to climb as much as I could get my hands on. Our conversation doing that first hour was an important and very meaningful one. It solidified our relationship, and I think fortified its foundation for years to come. We climbed the ridge of Hugin linked together, moving as a team up the mountain and while it was a surprising accomplishment for me, for so many reasons, I think it was for Tim too, as he wasn’t sure (deep down) if I was up for it. The climb last Friday was one of the hardest things I have done, physically and mentally and I am proud of my accomplishment. I am thankful for Tim, who has encouraged me over the past two years to become a better version of myself.
I titled this post “Reckless” because I know many people in my life see me as such. They watch me run headlong into situations, apparently without forethought or considering the consequences. Getting married at twenty-three (just celebrated being married to my amazing warrior wife for twenty-nine years), running for Student’s Union President, quitting my Masters program to move to Edmonton and study law, quitting law, to consult, quitting that to launch Transcend Coffee (and the myriad of decisions and mistakes I have made during the past fifteen years with that venture). These are but the highlights in my life where my willingness to run into risky things has branded me reckless and irresponsible.
My wife and I have been enjoying watching the Apple TV show “Ted Lasso” and the other night as we watched she declared, Poul you are like Roy! And she is right, I am very much like Roy, rough around the edges (and maybe even into the middle) opinionated, brusk, (more recently foul-mouthed like Roy), stubborn, impatient, argumentative, and often intimidating. And, at times I am reckless, yes, but most often I have actually given the situation much thought (although I am a fast thinker) and while I can’t always see the outcome, I typically choose to jump, knowing that the risk is outweighed by the potential reward.
I am not without fear, far from it. That twelve-year-old little boy who wanted desperately to fit in (as all kids want to do) who learned to fake being brave, and pretend at whatever the occasion required still lives within me, buried deep most days, but there nonetheless. As I have aged, I no longer have flaming red “Howdy Doody” hair, or big ears (I still wear glasses) and the teasing has long since stopped, with my need to fit diminishing as well. Although if I am honest, I am not sure how much my imposter syndrome has truly receded into the past. That learned behaviour early on and through my teens and even early twenties, served me well (outward confidence and competence) but also plagued me with self-doubt most of my life. Climbing mountains brings all of those emotions and buried coping mechanisms back to the surface, and I find that I am forced to confront them, tied to the end of a rope, hanging off a cliff, in ways that I wouldn't otherwise do. Perhaps I am saying climbing is a form of therapy for me, I don’t know (I am a verbal processor) but it definitely brings out that scared little boy in me. Thankfully, it also allows me to look that fear in its head on, and rather than be buffeted back, stand in the face of it, and act, deliberately putting one foot and hand above the other until the summit is reached.
I don’t think mountain climbing is reckless, not at all actually. Tied in with a competent guide, climbing is actually very safe. True, the exposure can be real, and the stress definitely is, but the real risk is more imagined than actual. Obviously, the mountains are unpredictable and shit can happen at any time, but that is life in a nutshell. As I said to Tim last week, climbing is not my whole life, but it has given me insight into myself, and granted me opportunities to confront my fears, both real and imagined, both present day and in the past, and enabled me to walk through them, and summit on the other side of it. Climbing for me is very much a metaphor for my life, and for that, I will happily wear the moniker of being RECKLESS.