Summit Dreams

Escapism has always played an important role in society, especially to those who dare scale mountains.

Kevin Gustafson Scott Serfas

Why do we climb? Maybe it hearkens back to our innate desire to conquer the world around us—to climb the tallest tree, to slay the biggest beast. We can only speculate. But one thing is for certain: climbing offers an escape from the daily toil of the layman, a conduit to lands untouched by human hands.

Many associate the word “escapism” with negative connotations—something only the lazy and uninspired would engage in. For climbers, escapism means more than sitting on the couch, slouched over, forfeiting precious time to some menial distraction. To them, climbing is more than a means to an end.

According to Mark and Mike Anderson’s The Rock Climber’s Training Manual: A Guide to Continuous Improvement, humanity’s insatiable lust to discover what lies upon a domineering summit stems as far back as 12,000 years. Rock paintings recovered from the Tassili n’Ajjer region of Algeria depict humanoid figures ascending rock faces with ropes and climbing equipment, something people continue to master. This goes to show that climbing is not simply a modern endeavor, rather we are naturally driven to the mountains. Climbers understand the dangers associated with the sport, yet they overlook them in pursuit of adventure.

According to the Alpine Journal, the first compe- tition was held on August 23, 1902, in Bardonecchia, Italy, where as many as 10,000 onlookers gathered to witness the spectacle. Only 12 competed, with the goal of ascending the wall of stone within the shortest amount of time.

Luigi Boninsegni ultimately took the win, and though this remains a historical achievement, it is not often mentioned today. Traditionalist critics berated the event, saying it was an affront to the spirit of climbing, as previously the sport was seen as more of a personal challenge than a competition. Whatever public opinion was at the time, events like this paved the way for future climbers.

One such climber who embodied the original, free spirit of the sport was Marc-André Leclerc. After his first climbing experience at a rock wall in a shopping mall, he felt compelled to join a climbing gym in Abbotsford. Viewing climbing as a way to challenge himself, he took to the Harrison Bluffs in British Columbia at only 13, teaching himself to climb mountains. From that point forward, he was willing to face any danger head-on, fully enthralled with the sport.

In Matt Skenazy’s article, “The Last Days of Marc-André Leclerc,” Leclerc recalls thinking, “in North America, people like to push the difficulty of climbing without pushing the risk. The danger aspect of going into the mountains is discouraged.” For Leclerc, however, the perilous nature of climbing allowed for a temporary escape from the monotony of life.

By 2012, he was documenting his adventures on a personal blog. He was not well known, nor did he care to be. Leclerc simply saw the internet as an avenue for self-expression.

In “The Dreaded First Blog Post,” Leclerc tells the public, “so after two years of living and climbing in Squamish, I have decided to start a blog, sharing some of my thoughts and adventures.” He goes on about his living situation at the time, mentioning how he lived on an air mattress under a stairwell: “It may not be the most glamorous sleeping arrangement, however, rent is cheap, and I use my money for more important things such as beer, ice cream, cookies, and sometimes rock climbing.”

Nextflix’s The Alpinist, a documentary about Leclerc, offers more vivid insight into the reclusive climber’s lifestyle and what he thought about climbing on a philosophical level.

Straight out of high school, Leclerc quickly ingrained himself in the British Columbia climbing community, making an immediate impact.

“My first memory of Marc-André was seeing him come running out of the forest in Squamish, barefoot with no shirt. Just broke my speed record on the Grand Wall. And I was like, ‘Who is that guy?’” says climber Alex Honnold in The Alpinist.

Despite this accomplishment, Leclerc insisted he simply “soloed the route regularly,” and “one time, [he] decided to see how long it would take [him], and then [he] got to the top and checked the time, and [he] was like, “oh, it’s two or three minutes faster than the established record.’”

In the film, Honnold reflects on his experiences with Leclerc, explaining, “Marc is a very, very driven climber, but he doesn’t care about accolades… But he definitely cares about… the experience in the mountains, and the journey, and just wants to have a good time while he’s out there.”

Leclerc then expands on his perspective, saying, “When I’m soloing rock climbs, I don’t really like to feel like I’m pushing myself… That’s not the reason for soloing rock for me. I don’t like to feel like I’m doing something intense or scary.”

The grandiose challenge soloing offers ensures climbers feel like the arbiters of their own fate. It’s one of the truest forms of escapism, as solo climbers ascend to places where they feel fully immersed in life, without any restrictions.

By 2014, Leclerc had already free soloed the Navigator Wall of Mt. Slesse in BC, Canada, which is a Grade IV 5.10+. And by 2016, Leclerc had made history, completing the first solo winter ascent of Torre Egger’s East Pillar in Patagonia. With that under his belt, in 2017, he completed the first free solo ascent of Pinko on Rim Wall in the Canadian Rockies. With these major accomplishments and 13 other notable ascents, he had proven his commitment to the sport was absolute.

At only 25 years old, Leclerc established himself as a humble inspiration for alpinists, having completed the first ascent of the north face of the Main Mendenhall Tower with fellow climber Ryan Johnson. Unfortunately, they never made it back down. Like many before him, Leclerc perished doing what he loved, leaving behind only his legacy. Leclerc opted for the purest form of escapism possible. Though soloing offers many dangers, it also affords many benefits to those who participate.

In 1980, fellow climber David Roberts wrote in his memoir, Moments of Doubt, “over the years, quite a few of my climbing acquaintances were killed in the mountains, including five close friends. Each death was deeply unsettling, tempting me to doubt all over again the worth of the enterprise.”

He recalls how he nearly died due to a simple rappelling mistake: “Had that botched rappel been my demise, no friends would have seen my end as meaningful: instead, a ‘stupid,’ ‘pointless,’ ‘who-wouldhave-thought?’ kind of death… Yet in the long run, trying to answer my own question, ‘Is it worth it?’… I come back to gut-level affirmation, however sentimental, however selfish.”

Throughout the memoir, Roberts remembers many instances of disaster and the mourning that followed, yet he always comes back to climbing. He gracefully concludes, “some of the worst moments of my life have taken place in the mountains… But nowhere else on Earth, not even in the harbors of reciprocal love, have I felt pure happiness take hold of me and shake me like a puppy, compelling me, and the conspirators I had arrived there with, to stand on some perch of rock or snow, the uncertain struggle below us, and bawl our pagan vaunts to the very sky. It was worth it then.”

That same happiness is what drovew Leclerc, and it’s sure to inspire thousands more. It’s what forces us to break the chains of comfort and try something unassured, with no guarantee of success. Despite the saddening conclusion of his story, that same happiness is what made it worth it for Leclerc. He wouldn’t have had it any other way, preferring to succumb to the dangers of an adventurous lifestyle and do what he loved in the place he loved the most rather than waste away in a state of dwindling potential. His style reeked of youthful optimism, something lacking in the world as of late.