On Wussitude




photo credit -- Amber

 

I imagine I've mentioned this here before, but I have a visceral and definitely irrational (i.e. beyond that which is necessary for self-preservation) fear of heights.  Typically it comes on rather suddenly and involuntarily and makes the world stop for what seems like hours while I assess how I am going to extricate myself from whatever situation I've purposefully gotten myself into.   So, one might wonder, why I am so bound and determined to become more of a mountaineer on and off my skis when virtually every time I set out, no matter how mellow the adventure, I find myself slightly panicked at some point.




photo credit -- Amber

 

Take, for example, July 4, 2012.  Amber and I decided to return to Logan Pass in Glacier National Park for one more day of skiing.  We weren't entirely sure what we would do but climbing Mount Oberlin, the easiest climb in the Park, was on our list.  We started to approach from the saddle between Mount Oberlin and Mount Clements, but realized that the snow conditions weren't quite good enough to use skis and were sketchy enough to not make for a good route without skis.  We didn't really have time to complete our mission but thought we'd get up on the saddle and at least check out the views.  We were boot packing up the snow, which was fine actually, but for whatever reason I decided I would head over to a patch of scree and make my life easier.  The scree was sort of muddy and slick and the skis on my back caused some balance issues (and I was getting a little tired) and I had a freakout moment.  I couldn't go down the scree without falling and the snow close to the scree was thin and slippery -- not conducive to boot packing. 




photo credit - Amber

 

As you can see from this picture, above, the slope isn't actually that steep and you can see visually that I was probably not going to fall and tumble down the scree.  So why did I feel that way?  I am reminded of a hike I did last summer off trail and there's photographic evidence of me clinging to the cliff side while my friend Brad walked right beside me.  Yes people, there was enough room for two across and there I was acting like I was precariously balancing on a tightrope.  I wonder if people like me should, perhaps, stick to the ski slopes and trails.  The impaired ability to rationally assess actual risk is not compatible with this type of adventuring.




that is Amber

 Then I remember the freakout I had the first time I took the chair up Big Mountain to the summit and then my panic descending the easiest downhill route from the summit. Or, it seems that in just 2009 I was on the "magic carpet ride" and working on my pizza v. french fries.  I am now comfortable on the chair and find that route down quite easy and without challenge. I am convinced that experience will allow me to do more and more without getting that icky adrenaline rush and those deer-in-the-headlights moments of "oh no this is scary what am I going to do now?" And to be fair, on Wednesday I was fully aware that the worst case scenario if I slipped on the scree was that I would get a little bloodied on the rocks (or my skis on my pack) but would not likely go very far. So why this caused anxiety I do not know.

I envy people who do not experience this reaction to heights. I wonder how normal or abnormal this is? I wonder if some day I will be able to handle exposure without any adrenaline and with the type of calm confidence some of my friends, like Amber, consistently exhibit. I consistently debate whether I'm just punishing myself by continually putting myself in these situations or whether I am doing myself a favor by increasing my opportunities to go fun cool places in the great outdoors. I also wonder why I am so bent on engaging in this stuff -- though I think the answer is that my friends do it so obviously I want to as well.

If anyone out there is a reformed wuss, I'd love to hear how you have conquered your affliction.