BAC K TO BA S E Th e dange r zo n e | Tom Li v i ng st one Photography | Tom livingstone
L
et’s get straight to the point: climbing is dangerous.
Competent alpine climbing must also be about mitigating
Full-blown alpinism in the Greater Ranges, meanwhile,
the risks. We don’t climb under seracs [ice cliffs]. We wait for
rock and ice, constantly tearing themselves apart, subject to
the odds aren’t stacked in our favour, but there are plenty of
is a dance through chaos. Mountains are inanimate spires of natural forces of unimaginable power. Some eyes may see lines
of beauty: ribbons of ice and golden granite. Others may see fear: commitment and casting far away from safety. I’m drawn to alpine climbing by a strange cocktail of both beauty and fear.
Risk is inherent from the moment you step off the ground,
but when clipping bolts at the local sport crag, you limit the number of dangerous variables. Bolts make climbing relatively safe. It’s okay to fall, and warm clothing and coffee keep the
atmosphere suitably relaxed. When alpine climbing, you quickly
realise you hold no control over the high mountain environment. Rocks fall, storms break, and seracs collapse. The consequences
settled weather. Perhaps, if we go into the mountains enough, old climbers who’ve struck the right balance and are still going strong. Through experience, we develop good judgement. Can
you abseil off one piece of gear? (Probably not, unless it’s a tree, and they don’t grow above 5200m). Can you trust ice that goes
thunk when you hit it? What sound does the wind make when
it rips over a ridge in a Patagonian storm? With this judgement, we know which risks are uncontrollable, like a storm rolling
in. Then we can accept and reduce the likelihood of the risks; check regular weather updates, take proper clothing, and know how - and when - to bail.
I’m partly drawn to climbing because of the risk. I wouldn’t
when something goes wrong can be far more serious than when
be so interested if I fell off and simply floated to the ground.
Hindu Raj range, where I climbed last summer, are a very long
attracted to this internal dialogue, which often takes place as
you’re close to civilisation. Remote regions such as Pakistan’s way from a hospital.
Considering the major risks and their potentially very serious
consequences, why look to the mountains at all? It’s a matter of perspective. One person’s gripping, disco-legging, fingers-
Alpinism forces me to meet my fears head on. I know I’m I climb another move higher above my gear. What would an MRI brain scan show? Is this when I’m most alive? Or at my most foolish?
There’s also an argument that something like alpinism
clawing pitch is another’s scramble. The thought of isolation
is the perfect antidote to our ‘cotton wool’ society, where
nervous. Personally, I quite like being ‘away from it all.’ Attitude
safe activities in life. I skip the odd clip at the indoor wall; the
during an expedition might make some people tense and
is important, and it shapes our perspective. Do you explore the edges of the map, or do you stay safe at home? Do you fear the consequences of what might be, or revel in the possibilities?
everything must be easier and safer. There are already plenty of quickdraws are often so close together, you could essentially
top-rope the whole route. So live a little, and embrace the fear; you’ll be surprised where it takes you.
FACING PAGE: The author looking down the vast northwest face of Koyo Zom (6877m) in Pakistan’s Hindu Raj range, during the first ascent of the new route he climbed on the peak with Ally Swinton in September 2019. There has been virtually no mountaineering exploration in this region for the last 40 years due to political instability.
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