Response to Juan's Concern for the Group

[specialed]

There's plenty of old, bold climbers. Whitaker's full of it. Tackle, Donini, Blanchard, Guy Laculle, etc, etc. I don't think soloing is as much about thinking I'm so good this won't happen to me as it is about not really thinking at all. Its about getting in the zone and letting the left side of the brain take over.

[Sphinx]

But there are plenty of young, bold, dead climbers, too. A lot more than old and bold ones. Doesn't Twight have a list of 40 partners and friends who died climbing?

[EWolfe]

specialed said:

There's plenty of old, bold climbers. Whitaker's full of it. Tackle, Donini, Blanchard, Guy Laculle, etc, etc. I don't think soloing is as much about thinking I'm so good this won't happen to me as it is about not really thinking at all. Its about getting in the zone and letting the left side of the brain take over.

 

Also, the older you get and survive, the more tuned the experiences make you. Mastery, as it were.

 

A healthy dose of good luck and strong will seems to be crucial to the mix as well.

[fleblebleb]

specialed said:

There's plenty of old, bold climbers. Whitaker's full of it. Tackle, Donini, Blanchard, Guy Laculle, etc, etc. I don't think soloing is as much about thinking I'm so good this won't happen to me as it is about not really thinking at all. Its about getting in the zone and letting the left side of the brain take over.

 

For me a free solo of the Tooth would be bold

 

For Guy Lacelle a free solo of a short WI 4 in good conditions isn't bold.

 

Beauty something beholder, boldness too.

[specialed]

There is a difference b/w stupidity and boldness and you're right boldness is subjective. A better statement would be there are no old stupid climbers. I don't know how old Lacelle was when he soloed Sea of Vapors and La P'omme d'Ore, etc. But I don't think he was that young. And, even for him, that has to be considered bold. So was Blanchards recent ascent of the Emporer Face on Robson. And he IS old!

[Bug]

Lambone said:

I used to go on these solo back packing trips in Montana, and I mostly worried about grizzlies. One time I came face to face with a moose out in the back country and about lost my shit...

 

Day 1, july, 1982. Went up the inlet to lake Inez in the Swan valley to sleep under a spruce tree at the edge of a beaver pond. Rolled out my bag, sucked down a spleef and lay me down to sleep. The breeze was down canyon. After about 15 minutes, I hear a load whistling grunt about 50 yards away. Clearly from a set of very large lungs. A few seconds later, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump and there beside the tree stands a set of eight inch diameter skull crushers. Again, the whistling grunt. Am I his bitch? Do I unzip to be polite? Too dark to descern his disposition. Again the whistling grunt. Blow job? SHIT. Then thumpity, thumpity, thumpity, thumpity, thumpity, thumpity, thumpity, thumpity and there are two more, only smaller. I realize they are up wind. Momma moose and twin calves. They wander out into the pond and graze. It gets too dark to see. I wake up a virgin.

Day 2, july 1982. New camera and I are taking pictures about eight miles upstream on Marshall creek. The flowers are out in the meadows and the bees are busy. Good chance to test my macro. Ooooh. good shot. Alright. another...... Then, a similar whistling grunt. Only decidedly deeper. Behind me. I turn slowly to see a young bull moose walking tentatively toward me. He is about thirty yards away. I am near the middle of a large meadow. A lone spruce stands dead in the middle about fifteen yards away. I walk slowly toward it keeping one eye on the friendly moose. Mental note; Must change aftershave. Something more masculine. Moose picks up speed. I pick up speed. Moose lunges into allout charge. I lunge into all out retreat to tree and up through dead scratchy, stiff, brutal limbs. No looking back. BAM! The tree shakes. I keep climbing. BAM! THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. Snort. And he trots away. I bleed.

Day 3, july, 1982. Drive all day. Must get away from moose. Up the Yak. No humans. West side of Glacier park. Camp on creek. Big ridge to west with old clearcut. Might get a panorama of the western front. Head out fast to catch the sunset. One hour later I am up a thousand feet and three miles away. Totally alone. Walking through a stand of small lodgepole, I hear something behind me. I turn. Stare. Listen. Nothing. Move on to the top. Nothing to write home about. Too many high ridges of lodgepole. Head down the ridge. About fifty yards past where I heard the noise, I hear it again. Stop. Turn. Stare. Listen. Nothing. I must be paranoid. I didn't use aftershave. Move on. Again, the noise. Turn etc.......... Nothing. Again, the noise. Shit. I am being stalked. Cat? Must be. I have a good knife. Cats do not like fights. Move on. Cut down through a clearcut to a road. Up the hill from where I came comes a grunt. Looking up, I see a bear running down hill toward me. Nothing around me. He jumps over a log and comes down on his front paws. Ouch! Over his chin in a very clumsy summersault. "AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" he says. Quickly I translate from bear to human and realize he has just cursed me and promised to kick ass and bite me repeatedly. He is about thirty yards away. Lay down and play dead? I will definately get bit. He isn't very big. Has he ever seen a human before? Probably not. He's young. Probably just turned away from momma. Shit. He's gotta be hungry. I can't lie down. I'll be an unsavory meal. Bad taste but norishing. I pull my knife, yell as loudly and as deeply as I can and lunge toward the bear. He stops about ten feet from me. He sits. My mind is racing wildly. I think, what am I to him? A mystery. An unknown animal of unknown strength and ferocity. I cannot give him time to gather his courage. I roar as mean as I can and lunge at him flailing my arms wildly. He turns and runs. I cut off my shorts and hang them in a young tree.

 

 

[Norman_Clyde]

what am I to him? A mystery. An unknown animal of unknown strength and ferocity

A black bear does not quite measure up to a grizzly, but since yesterday morning, I can relate.

[Colin]

Mugs Stump did not die soloing, but guiding. He was roped, but after falling in the crevasse ice blocks fell on top of him. It is merely a lesson in keeping the rope tight on a glacier, not about soloing.

 

As long as you are careful to solo at a level well below your lead level I don't think that soloing is reckless at all. I have never soloed a climb that I wouldn't have simul-soloed with the right partner anyways.

 

Somewhere in Twight's book he has a story about a friend who died simul-soloing (Philip Mohr?), because he was simul-soloing with a more competent partner, and (Twight speculates) wanted to keep up rather than ask to rope up. I think that the most important thing while soloing is to make sure you don't get into a situation in which you will go "shit, now i have to go up."

[Off_White]

Alpine_Tom said:

It was one of the Whittakers who said "there are old climbers and bold climbers, but there are no old, bold climbers."

 

 

From The Mountaineers Books website: "There are old climbers and there are bold climbers, but there are no old, bold climbers. This familiar saying, coined by legendary climber Paul Petzoldt..."

 

Sounds more Petzoldt than Whittaker to me, but the phrase has certainly become ubiquitous.