Alpine Ethos #1: Genesis of a Mountain Story

e·thos- noun. the characteristic spirit of a culture, era, or community as manifested in its beliefs and aspirations.

I’ve worked second jobs since high school. Even when I was enlisted in the Army, I spent most weekends working somewhere. Cleaning bathrooms at the PX, late-night security at Denny’s, and on and on. For fifteen years, I moonlighted as a part-time climbing guide. It complemented my full-time gig as a public school teacher, which left weekends and summers wide open. However, most of that free time disappeared after my boy was born, and that part-time guiding job became very part-time.

Photo by Eric Jesse

I also had to admit that I was getting older, and the prospect of getting injured while climbing with someone I had just met worried me. Those illusions of invincibility faded substantially in my 40s. I already spend half of my workout time warming up old wounds and injuries. I know several climbers who walk with a limp after being dropped onto a ledge while wearing crampons. My hope is to walk straight as long as possible.

In February of 2024, I threw in the towel on guiding for good. I purposely let my Wilderness First Responder certification lapse as a symbolic torching of the boats. I needed to find new challenges that wouldn’t risk my neck or take time away from my family.

Writing has always inspired me. When my little brother brought home a copy of Hatchet, by Gary Paulsen, when I was in the fourth grade, I snatched it from his hands and read it in one sitting. It was the first chapter book I was able to sit still long enough to read, and it blew me away. I instantly knew I wanted to live an adventurous life. The only problem was that I grew up in Oklahoma, and the only adventure to be had was illegal.

Books continued to guide me. I found “Walking,” by Henry David Thoreau, when I was 16. I read it a dozen times or more, and underlined all of the most quotable lines, like, “give me a wildness no civilization can endure,” and, “Give me for my friends and neighbors wild men, not tame ones.” It reaffirmed the direction I’d chosen. I took my first swing at Hemingway with For Whom the Bell Tolls in basic training. I finished the final chapter after lights out on a hot August night, reading under a red lens flashlight, then lay on my back, staring at the ceiling until dawn, wrestling with its premise. The idea that someone could live a philosophy so fully they would willingly give their life to it, and leave a hot barrel for any who doubted their conviction.

What followed my abrupt career change was a moment of instability amid the realization that we have a short amount of days on this planet, and I want to spend each with purpose. Exploring challenging routes in the mountains filled my cup in my twenties and thirties, when I was free of the responsibilities of fatherhood, but that fulfillment has waned in recent years. There had to be something more.

Out of that tension came clarity and focus. For the first time, I envisioned an entire story arc, from beginning to middle and end. And, I knew I had a responsibility to act upon it.

As fate would have it, an incredible book once again fell into my lap at just the right time. Rick Rubin’s Creative Act is a brilliant 400-page treatise on developing one’s creativity. His focus is not on the art, but on the artist. As I wrapped my head around the process of putting skin on my characters, I came across his list of thoughts and habits not conducive to the work: 

• Believing you aren’t good enough.

• Feeling a lack of necessary energy.

• Mistaking adopted rules for absolute truths.

• Avoiding the required effort (laziness).

• Settling for less than your best work.

• Setting overly ambitious goals or having too many ideas.

• Thinking ideal conditions (like specific tools or locations) are essential.

• Abandoning projects when they become difficult.

• Needing external permission to start or continue.

• Letting a perceived need for funding hinder progress.

• Failing to finish projects.

• Blaming external circumstances or people for interference.

• Romanticizing negative behaviors or addictions.

• Believing a specific mood is needed to create (the “tortured artist” idea).

• Prioritizing other things over creative work.

• Distraction and procrastination.

• Impatience.

• Fear of criticism.

• Attachment to specific commercial outcomes.

• Competing with past work or other artists.

Anyone with the slightest bit of self-awareness will feel attacked when reading it. I know I did. Guilty! But from that admittance rises a commitment to humility and focus.

Writing a book requires a willingness to cast aside expectations and a trust that the process will work. In climbing, we learn to do this as well. When projecting a challenging route, we push aside doubts that we’ll ever be strong enough, and worries that we’re just wasting our time. If you haven’t worried that you’ve finally bitten off more than you can chew, then you haven’t truly pushed yourself.

If you’re reading this, then you are likely a climber or runner who has trained for something beyond your ability. You’ve pushed close to the edge and have felt the weight of the consequences. The next step is to apply that conviction to a dream beyond physical goals. Yeah, we might go down in flames, but we will go out with a hot barrel.

Next post: My process (not to be confused with the process)