Climbing Follies

I've lived and worked for many years in and around the Rocky Mountains and I know a lot of people who are climbers. My darling wife used to climb, both scrambling and some technical. My buddy, Murray, was also an avid climber in his day, often going out on solo climbs on days off from University.

I could watch these people climb all day. Same as I can watch people run on the pathways, with red faces, looking like they want to be anywhere else but running at that moment.

I mean, I really appreciate all that goes into mountain climbing and the high you get from it, but for myself, I'd rather be the audience on this one. Hanging off a rock face with only your fingertips and toenails holding you up, with a piece of twine as your only safety somehow had no appeal to me. Go figure.

I remember one of Murray's adventures in particular. He planned on heading out to Mt. Yamnuska, a popular climbing spot with a lot of route options. Between the two of us, we were uncommonly smart - Murray actually told me where he was going and when he should be back. I made a note of it and made sure I had dibs on his stereo if he didn't return.

He was away at some ungodly hour on a Saturday, which meant it was sometime before noon. My day was spent doing what students do on a day off, either nothing at all or frantically trying to find a washing machine in the complex to get my clothes cleaned. Running out of underwear on a Monday morning is not conducive to paying attention in class.

Mur made it back safe and mostly sound late in the evening. He was about an hour later than he thought he'd be and I had just enough time to put his stereo back before he got into the apartment. Once he was settled, I asked him how the day went. I hope you're sitting down…

He got to the mountain in good time and started up the scree slope towards his route. He started his climb and was making pretty good time when the weather started to close in a bit. The clouds lowered and the wind picked up enough to slow him down. Somewhere halfway up, some climbers on the route next to him knocked some rocks down and one of them smacked him in the thigh and made him use some naughty words.

As he worked his way up the last pitch, the clouds rolled in completely. As Murray made it to the top, visibility went to near zero, so all his pictures are of his feet. It was the only thing he could see with any clarity. He spent a whole ten minutes revelling in the fact that he had done a new route. Okay, revelling may be a strong word. He knew he had done it, but now he had to get off the mountain.

So he started back down, with the clouds keeping him company and inviting their friend, Rain, to join the party. Mur got to the bottom safely, eventually, using only a few more naughty words when the rock face was slicker than it looked. His rock-bruised leg held up until he got back to his van and started home. Oh, by the way, the clouds disappeared as he drove away.

Once home, his leg started complaining like seagulls over a French fry, just because he had to climb a measly four storeys up to our apartment. To top it all off, there was no beer left (not my fault - I think).

"So," I said, "a crappy day all around, eh?"

"Hell, no!" Mur exclaimed, "It was great!"

Like I said, I appreciate what goes into climbing. I would rather leave it to monkeys and mountain goats. But I will gladly be your safety guy and keep track of where you're going and when you'll be back. Dibs on the TV.