As people who climb

Kaleb: Early December Bouldering
Derkies Lake, ID

"What an odd sport we inhabit, where bits of obscure rock in remote locations are recognizable."
— Richard Pawlowicz

I've begun to realize that people who climb are different than people who do not climb. People who do not climb would not consider a 6 mile hike at 13,000 feet, a warm up. They would not think 20 and partial sun is outside climbing weather. They don't think two days off in a row is enough time for a vacation, and one day is perfect for a road trip.


Every time I climb I become more addicted to the sport, to the adventure, to the feeling of absolute freedom. Nothing propels you up the rock but your own body. Nothing holds you to the rock but your own hands and feet. There is nothing more beautiful than looking up at a climb, and nothing more satisfying than looking down. But really, it is more than a body experience. Figuring out a climb, thinking, moving, and reacting, puts everything in right now time. The move below is over, the move above is new. Every moment in a climb is intense, from the moment I leave the ground.

What a strange sport.

And did I mention, all encompassing? It doesn't end with "the big game", or with the thaw, or with the first snow. It doesn't end when the gear is packed, or on the hike down. It continues, it takes over what you eat, what you wear, how you feel about life. Suddenly politics don't matter, religion doesn't matter, wars and earthquakes and cars and clothes and houses don't matter. It reduces everything down to basics. To shuffling bills around so we can go on trips. To having jobs that allow us plenty of free time. To sleeping in (eek) grungy motels, and tents, and on air mattresses that don't hold air.

It's a way of life.

And it has me completely captivated.