This past weekend I was fortunate enough to attend the 15th Annual Ouray Ice Festival. This was probably the 7th or 8th festival which I personally attended, and one that fell at an odd time in my life. I wrestled for weeks with the decision to go or not to go. To not go would mean I would work extra, save money, and maintain my little routine. To go would mean getting back in the saddle so to speak. It would mean 3 days to just climb and be around like minded souls. I could try and forget the past year and a half of my life abruptly interupted by a horrendous injury and then my divorce (an eternal injury). I could be with a group of friends who care about me and many of whom were right there in the firey pit of hell as I made this journey, or I could stay home and just go about my daily routine. I had not been climbing much over the months prior to this wekeend, making the concious choice to stay grounded after several close calls over the last year. As I waded through the myriad of emotions that came with the loss of my wife, I found that I was suddenly willing to risk more. Less afraid of a loss that came prematurely and suddenly, unwanted and unkind. I have always been extremely cognizent of my climbing and the inherent risks. When I would find myself pushing the limits of my abilities all that I had to do to avoid the ever growing pull of gravity was to think of my wife and the terror of her answering the door to a sherrif or answering the phone to the voice of a friend telling her that I was gone. Of course I’ve always put that same fear first and foremost into thoughts of my children, but I just knew that I did not want to put that burden on my wife, who would in turn have to tell our children that dad was not coming home. So I’d get a gravity/reality check and “slow my roll”. Many would claim that it “held me back”. I beg to differ; it merely held me to a higher level of responsibility. The last year has been significantly different in this aspect. My wife was gone and slowly I was upping my game. I was re-learning to live again, to risk again, and to love again. My emotions were raw and real and I was unafraid after the loss I had just suffered. After all, what could be worse than losing all you cared about? So yes I pushed harder and it eventually caught up to me on one warm summer evening in September. I had decided to go climbing on the day that I had met my wife 16 years prior. While soloing (climbing unroped with no protection) a casual route that I had climbed before and felt entirely comfortable on, I slipped just above the crux move. The crux move, in climbing terminology, refers to the hardest move on a particular route. While this move was considred the crux move of this climb, it was well below the level I was climbing at. I slipped at the crux, lost my footing, and hung unroped from three fingers before quickly making a bumbling, desperate move back down to a small ledge. All of this happned approximately one hundred feet off of the ground.
This was a beautiful summer evening in Durango and the sunset as I sat there consumes my memory of that night to this day. I was shaking and crying. They were not tears of fear. They were tears for all I had lost and for the complete lack of fear that I had just come close to losing the ultimate gift..my life. My kid’s lives would have been altered once again, but this time to a point of no return. At that time I had no idea that in a matter of a few months I would be fighting for my God given right to just be their dad and spend equal amounts of time with them. That didn’t matter at this moment. I watched as cars silently passed by far below. Distant to the point of silence, yet so close. The sun slowly dipped behind the La Plata Mountains. The last bits of light stretching its luminous arms across the valley before me. A gentle alpenglow illuminating the town I came to love and call home. The pastures below were full of livestock completely oblivious to my battle with gravity. I remember watching a cyclist pass by and seeing his small headlamp piercing the dusk like a pinhole in the ensuing darkness. I was alone. More alone, in more ways, than I had ever been in this lifetime. I wasn’t scared, just lonely and cold. The dryness in my throat was tantamount to swallowing an entire bale of cotton. High above the valley, above the Animas River, unable to hear its flowing pulse, I sat and contemplated what had just happened. My head was burried in my knees as I sat upon this ledge and stared at the encroaching darkness. The last bits of pastel light exploding in the sky. My cheeks were soaked and caked in dirt and tears. I felt numb but unafraid. I was tired but I felt so alive. I was free. It was just me and the canvas before me. The wind was my companion and this small rock ledge my island. No one could take anything else away from me for this was my fortress. Suddenly I felt the life that had been taken away from me replaced by a sense of peace and gaiety. I sat for another hour composing my mind and freeing my soul. Letting it all go. Allowing my galloping pulse to slow to a normal rythhm. Then I slowly downclimbed to where I had left my rope, packed my gear, hiked to my truck and sat there and cracked open a beer. To say that it was the best tasting beer of my life would be a gross dishonor to the experience!
The months that followed saw me climbing less and less, focusing more on my other passion- fighting! Everyday was filled with a constant state of motion and emotion. To stop would only allow the deamons of my life to creep back into my mind. I had hired an attorney and that was his job, not mine. I was invited on small climbing trips, day trips, after work trips, and every other type of climbing trip there was. My friends had my back, and I knew that. Friends who I had been less than attentive to in the past were suddenly there in my face. Unwilling and unable to watch me spiral down. Unwilling to let me fall from the edge of my fortress, unwilling to watch me go it alone…solo. Yet I knew that I needed to keep my feet on the ground for awhile. My mind wandered, over the months, to a good friend who had lost his fight with gravity in November of 2006. It was a Saturday and he had JUST finalized a divorce that mimmicked mine in so many ways. He fought long and hard for what most would consider “fair” and equitable results. He was in Mexico climbing with friends, celebrating if you will, when he decided to solo a climb that had wrapped its fingers around his heart and mind. The climb was WELL within his abilities. This time he would not come home. The next day (Sunday) we got the news that they had found his body. His ex-wife no sooner left the funeral service and she was packed and on her way out of the state. Jimmy’s family has almost no contact with his little girl to this day.
I knew that I needed to be here for my kids. I knew that life had just BEGUN for me. The world before me was scary, yet full of excitement. I just needed to stay grounded, stay alive, feel alive. I needed to focus on the fighting, not just with my fists, but fighting the battles that lay before me. Ultimately it all worked out. December 9th 2009 is a day I will never forget. I was given my wings on that fateful day. Up to that point all that I could see was loss, yet on this day I was given the wings to fly to wherever I wanted to be. I felt like Michael the archangel. Ready to do battle, exalted and triumphant. I had been battle tested over the course of the preceding 8 months and I was ready to face all that stood in my way of a life full of happiness. I was now the master of my own destiny and the captain of my own soul. My mind and my heart were slowly turning back to the source which had fuled my soul for so many years- climbing and the ever present dance with gravity. The thoughts and memories of climbing needed to be sorted. I needed to put the good memories in the forefront of my mind. I needed to acknowledge some past memories that involved a past life, yet involved climbing, and let them go, for those memories were no longer good. Climbing was MY life and MY source and no one could take that from me. I would not allow my wings to be clipped by the ruthless intent of insanity.
Slowly my focus shifted. I will always have the dual love for both lives. Climbing and Fighting. I needed the balance of both in my life yet I felt the pull at my heels. The taunting of gravity constantly egging me on, whispering in my ear “come let’s dance”. I couldn’t ignore it, and I dare not avoid its embrace. It is who I am. Dancing this dance far above the ground, sometimes above the clouds. Delicate and timeless, once you taste it’s sweetness you cannot ignore its pull. I knew the Ice Fest was coming but was I ready to truly commit to this partner? Would I have the clarity to dance with the grace and spirit that is required? Mere days before we were to depart I began the bargaining within my mind. “Stay and work, save the money”. “Go and spread your wings”. Day in and day out I struggled. Most decisions that I make are made clearly, logically, and typically quickly, yet I could not decide to take the leap and get back in the saddle that I had so missed.
Ultimately I decided to go, with a little encouragement from those friends who stood by me all this time, Doug, Cody, Neal, Linda, Marcus and Tambri. The overwhelming sense of “you need this” was continually repeated. So off we went. Skipping the mundane details I’ll just say that the journey back (within those three days in Ouray) proved very surreal. The first time I was lowered (or rappelled – I don’t remember which) into that dark chasm carved by the Uncompahgre River, I didn’t get what I expected. I thought I would just be overjoyed and bursting with enthusiasm. Suddenly I was about eighty feet below everyone else. I was cold, alone, and it was very surreal, bathed in shadows. Down this far you get no sun. The noises above are muffled by the flow of the river. Everything echoes. The past year of my life echoed in my mind. Yet I climbed. Move by move, ice crunching under the thud of my cramponed boots. My ice tools pierced the hard ice and allowed my ascent. Shards of ice peppered my face. Slowly, gently I ascended. I truly felt the wings upon my back spread like those of an eagle. Freedom! The one word, the one thought, the one feeling that rode the wave of adrenaline from bottom to top. FREEDOM! No one can take that from us. You can enslave a man. You can beat him, insult him, and tear him down, but as long as he maintains hope, he has freedom. The hope for a better tomorrow continues to fuel my spirit and give me the drive to keep putting one boot in front of the other. The sounds, taste, and smells from this weekend will forever be etched in my heart. The friends who shared these days are friends for eternity. The laughs we shared (even at my expense- sharpie man) continually reverberate in my mind. My focus has returned and my eyes are fixed. The sole focus in my life is to find moments of happiness, back to back, as often as I can. More so – my sole focus is to cherish each day that I have with two kids who are the focus of my soul. Until you have something so precious ripped from your grasp – you cannot fathom the ensuing hell, yet with hope and a good set of wings, you can beat the odds and come back to a world full of light. I will surely face many more difficulties in this life, and some I shall lose, but I will never give up my freedom, never give up my wings.
