bpope’s blog

I feel like there’s been a lot of death recently.  I realize that’s awfully self-centered of me; I know that hundreds of thousands of people die every day.  It’s just that for one reason or another, the concept has penetrated my protected little world and thoughts, thanks to both high profile celebrity deaths and accidents in the outdoors.

Cases in point:

Three weeks ago, I night-hiked Half Dome (trip report forthcoming).  Earlier that evening, a woman slipped and fell while on the cables section (the very steep final section that features large steel cable hand-rails).  She was lucky, and was caught by the cables.  She suffered a relatively minor head injury and was helicoptered to safety.  I learned of this after descending from my hike.

Two weeks ago, a 40 year old software engineer and father of two slipped and fell 100 feet to his death (as other hikers looked on), on the same section of trail.

Three weeks to a month ago, three elite climbers died on Mount Edgar in southwestern China.  They were all in their early thirties.

Yesterday, John Bachar, a father and climbing legend, died in a free soloing accident in Bishop, CA.

It’s an almost inevitable thing.  If you mountaineer or climb for long enough, odds are you will die doing it (unless you have some other high risk hobbies).  They are sports filled with objective hazards, and every move is a calculated risk.  Risks can be mitigated by preparation, training and good judgement, but when you’re on a mountain or wall, risk cannot be eliminated.  I was reading about the coverage of the mountaineering deaths in China, when I came across a particularly interesting take by Will Gadd, who wrote:

For me I’m never going to use the word “tragedy” in reference to a climbing or mountain sports accident again. A tragedy is when a whole family gets killed by a drunk driver. A tragedy is when a little kid gets abused. A tragedy is when a 30-year old mother of two young kids gets cancer and dies. Dying while climbing, kayaking, paragliding, BASE jumping or any other form of outdoor recreation isn’t a fucking tragedy, it’s a clearly predictable result of doing the activity. If I or anyone goes out while doing our sports with a clear understanding of the game we’re playing then let’s have a drink, cheer for the life lived, and move on as best we can. I know it’s not that simple as death leaves huge craters in life, but I think that’s the only sane response I can give to the continued and voluntary mountain carnage I keep seeing year in and year out. To celebrate the rewards without clearly understanding the risks is not only bad math but blatant self-deception.

Mountaineering and other adventure sports are awfully narcissistic, so the term ‘tragedy’ just doesn’t ring true.  So, for my part, I think Will is dead on. Enough said.

And to my mother:  for now at least, I am going to keep climbing walls and mountains.  At the same time, though, I need to remember that I’m 22 and despite feeling like I can live forever, I won’t.

(The fact that I recognize this should, at least, make my mother feel marginally better.  Well, at least until I tell her about my latest epic.)

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about what motivates me, whether it’s work, research, hobbies, involvements, or anything else really.  Why do I spend time doing different things in my life.  Some things have obvious answers for me: I think climbing up rocks and mountains is fun and exhilarating; Frisbee is a great outlet for athletic pursuit.

Other time commitments are more difficult to justify.  Why do I spend time as an assistant Scoutmaster or put effort towards my time on the Executive Committee of Sigma Chi?  There are good reasons to do these things, and bad reasons.  Now, just as in the rest of my life, I look to my father for guidance.  He was a teacher to me, a MathCounts coach (without him there would have been no program), a motivator, a Scoutmaster.  It became obvious to me that he did many of the things he did because he wanted me to have the same valuable experiences he had taken part in.  He wanted Scouts done right, so he did it himself.

I know my father didn’t love every part of being a Scoutmaster: it’s a lot of work with very little thanks, especially in today’s world.  Rather, he felt that the lessons in Scouting are too important to let somebody screw them up while he stood idly by.  It wasn’t ambition that drove him, just good wishes for the next generation.  Unfortunately, people in positions of authority are more often than not driven by the former, not the latter.  I wish that more of the individuals in the organizations that I deal with (and in government for that matter) were more like my father, if only in that respect.