Updated 2/11/01

I recently read, and was captivated by Lee Soares' story, titled "In the Ring with Heavyweights". It got me to thinking, and trying to assess how I would rate myself in accordance with the climbing media's onslaught of spray about big names and bigger numbers. On any given day you can read the following: "climber [whoever] has finished a problem at [wherever] which he believes may be V [whatever]." There's so much hype all around right now that it can be difficult at times not to get caught up in it. Especially when a local (you know who) is at the forefront of the media frenzy.

So how do we gauge ourselves in light of such lofty grades and people? To be honest I'm not entirely sure. But I have come up with a method and result that you may find useful for yourself. I will use an anonymous climber as an example and let you, the reader, decide for yourself.

He has been climbing for around 11 years. In that time he's done traditional, sport, aid, bouldering, and ice climbing. He bouldered when "V" referred only to the type of neck a shirt had. He has done problems at some of the most beautiful and amazing climbing areas in the world: Hueco Tanks, Joshua Tree, Yosemite, and Fontainebleau, to name just a few. He has at times been a homeless transient, living out of his truck or crashing at friends' homes to facilitate his never-ending need to climb. At other times he has suffered through being a "weekend warrior" when necessary, only getting out on the rock on an exception basis. It took him a year to do one of his hardest problems to date, and if asked about it he will respond only that it was "the most satisfying and enriching experience of my life". He has had affairs with boulder problems that have lasted longer than those with women, and oftentimes with better results.

Through climbing he has experienced what he feels is the full spectrum of human existence. From the depths of emptiness during a long convalescence after breaking his body in the pursuit of something seemingly just out of his reach, to the unbridled adulation at having taken another step toward expanding his pre-existing notion of his own physiological limitations. It's a quest for a place that lies deep within him, somewhere between perception and reality. And while it may never ultimately be reached, he has so thoroughly enjoyed the journey that the destination has become immaterial.

More importantly, his desire and enthusiasm are infectious. His friends enjoy climbing with him simply because he is so much fun to go climbing with. If you are ever wandering through Lincoln Woods and hear non-stop laughter, it's a safe bet that he's not far away. And whenever you're out there pushing yourself and he's around, then he's right behind you shouting encouragement and right below you with an attentive spot. Doubtless there are many who are far better climbers, but there may be no one else having as much fun out there.

But wait, there seems to be something missing here. Where are the numbers? Climbers are empirical people. We require statistical facts in order to form our opinions, right? But what if we try qualifying, instead of quantifying? Then who would be the best climbers? More importantly, how would our friend here rank?

Perhaps he is an enigmatic hero who climbs the hardest routes around with little or no fanfare to preserve the special relationship he maintains with the rock, like a close personal friend. Or maybe he is just a bottom feeder who avoids exposure due to a fear of judgment or condemnation from his peers. Truth be told, it's irrelevant. That is, until you share the experience with him. But how? Who is this guy? If you would like to try and guess his weight then drop him a line at dysappear@mediaone.net. He'll get in the ring with anyone: will you?

     

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