Cheaters

Everest from the north

The essay below is the 10th in POISON, written in 2011. After re-reading a few days ago I decided not to post it here because it sounded like sour grapes and wrath. Then I saw a headline on Explorers Web declaring, "Everest’s Khumbu Icefall Is Now Open". The article itself noted that, "Now, the many climbing Sherpas waiting at Base Camp can start fixing and supplying camps along the mountain," and that, "a group of Sherpa workers will focus on laying ropes to the summit," while one of the local trekking agencies estimated between 400 and 500 climbers would attempt the standard route up Everest from Nepal this season. So instead of posting a different essay I decided to examine how that article and the circumstances described make me feel.

I try not to pay attention to the commoditization of adventure because it makes me sad but when I realize that helicopters are used to establish camps and fix ropes from the top down on 8000m peaks I wonder what in the fuck happened to climbing.

My relationship to climbing made us try to address naturally existing challenges with a minimum of technological advantages; to integrate with the environment rather to insulate ourselves from it while we exploited it. My attitude was against tradition not “for” it because I thought previous mountain climbers' use of technology was overpowering and unnecessary, a conqueror attitude; the Whillans box tents, supplemental oxygen, fixed ropes, huge teams, etc. To me that was like playing out World War I against the mountains. When I learned that Messner and Habeler had climbed Hidden Peak (Gasherbrum 1) in alpine style it sparked my imagination like nothing had before — instead of me revolting against all of those siege style Himalayan expeditions that ascent inspired me positively.

Once I got my hands on a copy of Reinhold Messner's iconoclastic 1970 essay titled "Murder of the Impossible", it was like throwing gasoline on the fire. For him the whole point of climbing was the uncertainty of the outcome, and perhaps seeking the answer to a Jungian question regarding how well self-image and expectations thereof line up with one's experience. Messner wrote, “up there [on the mountains] we want to find long, hard days, days when we don’t know in the morning what the evening will bring.” And followed that with, “Today’s climber … carries his courage in his rucksack … Faith in equipment has replaced faith in oneself.” By focusing nearly limitless technological and financial resources on the challenge an unprincipled climber may have his way with any route. Courage and skill are of little use in a confrontation with certainty. Besides, certainty precludes the concept of exploration, whether external or internal.

One climbing friend said something I have to paraphrase because, well, my memory ain't what it used to be, "many who looked into the mirror of the cliffs, found themselves wanting, deemed it unacceptable and resorted to technology to overcome the deficiencies that resided solely in themselves.” Dougal Haston asked, “why should these magnificent routes be reduced to a matter of mere drudgery by adoption of outdated methods?”

When I consider my position regarding ethics and style in climbing, or read what I've written on the subject, I sometimes (but not often) see it as a moral point of view; that alpine style, the concept of doing more with less and leaving little trace of our passage, is morally superior to other forms of climbing. I suppose I wouldn't be alone though because, when Yvon Chouinard and Doug Robinson presented their thesis on “clean climbing” methods in the early-70s, which emphasized taking responsibility for the preservation of the resource, the environment, it read and sounded moralistic, perhaps as the word from on high, and that they and those who responded to the call were superior. Later, Chouinard wrote that, "Ethics are so you don’t screw it up for the next guy ..." and I think this is where our focus should orient; forecasting the future impact of our current actions, not only on the environment but on human behavior. In the original essay on clean climbing Robinson declared that, "every climb is not for every climber; the ultimate climbs are not democratic," and that, "every climb has its time, which need not be today." Fast forward to the "me, now" generation and his words of 53 years ago seem remarkably apropos.

The premise of my essay below is that using oxygen while climbing on 8000m peaks (and these days by time-crunched clients being guided on summits as low as 7000m) is doping. Supplemental oxygen is doping. And doping is cheating. It may seem strange to write about cheating in a sport where there are no rules, but whether formalized or not, climbing does have some, and to illustrate this I ask, why are O2 masks conspicuously absent from Everest summit photos? "Because I want people see my face" is one answer, of course. But I posit that the subject unconsciously knows s/he doped, used fixed ropes and ladders, didn't ascend on their own, and that had they done so the climb and summit would earn greater respect. So they remove the mask, sometimes going so far as to hide it. We admire human capability, which we often express by way of our esteem for doing things the hard way. Of course, we also seek efficiency and are happy to use whatever advantages the species developed over the past decades while simultaneously declaring that anyone seeking a more difficult, often riskier experience is reckless, and endangering themselves. It's a strange dichotomy to me. And not without consequences.

Merriam-Webster recognizes that, while a shortcut may indeed be a "means of doing something more directly and quickly", the caveat is "often not so thoroughly." Synonyms range from "dodge" to "skirt" to "get around", etc., so while shortcuts may appear to reach the same destination they don't, at least not holistically. In the fitness and recreation context I have seen plenty of people choose to participate in an endurance sport and then search high and low for ways to do less of the activity while still trying to achieve the stated goal. The parallel here is that people want to climb Everest ... without having to do all that it would normally (naturally) entail. Why bother learning to climb when they won't be doing it anyway? Why bother learning to understand and mitigate risk when someone else will handle that for them? Why learn to take care of themselves in the cold, acclimatize properly, achieve a modicum of fitness, build an anchor, read a map, etc., when none of it is relevant and shortcuts abound?

I will never proselytize for taking shortcuts because the more we normalize shortcutting now the more commonly it will be practiced in the decades ahead and I want to at least examine the future impacts of our current decisions, not only on human behavior but on our environment. From the elites on down the line to the neophyte trophy collectors, I want to see all of us do better — better for ourselves, better for others, and better for the environment we inhabit and use.

I also want people to be able to, and to do whatever they want. These words are opinion, not enforcement. I want all of us to assume responsibility for the doing. When I was climbing I said, "I don't care what you do, as long as you truthfully say what you do." To that I would add, "Play a little chess, think ahead, ask whether the tactics being used progress or restrain human potential. What will remain of this resource — the environment as well as the human spirit — if we keep cheating, keep taking shortcuts, and will our children and theirs respect us and what we have done? Will they appreciate that we left the world in better condition than we found it, or the opposite?"

That humans can do more difficult things is well proven. That we quickly default to easier, less dangerous things is also proven. If we learn to speak positively about risk and difficulty and hard work, and we make doing so a habit, it completely changes our relationship to same, and we become different, more capable people. Our opportunities and trajectory are forever altered, and we aren't as inclined to settle for less than our greatest potential.

Royal Robbins said, "Better that we raise our skill than lower the climb," but in the context of this essay and the commodification of high altitude climbing, I don't think that's what we are doing.

Barry Blanchard traversing into the Great Couloir from the North Ridge on Everest, late-October 1988. “A rope, a rack, and the shirt on your back” was the old saying but here it’s no rope, no rack, and a down suit on your back.

The other day I happened across some remarks on the web congratulating someone for having climbed Mount Everest. Of course, and as is the norm, the protagonist made his way up there having hired guides, who fixed the ropes he ascended, who supplied oxygen, who mitigated the risk, who engaged local help to carry his gear and set up the camps where he slept.

One can argue that climbing is an individual sport and "he" did not climb the mountain. One might argue with equal vigor that him standing on the summit was the result of teamwork and that mountaineering is a team sport.

I could agree with the notion that it's a team sport on some levels, and that fixed ropes can have a place in some forms of climbing however the use of oxygen has no place, is cheating and overrules all other claim to achievement. Supplemental O2 is doping - without question. It is not a medical necessity, which is proven by many, many ascents of 8000m peaks by climbers who did not use supplemental O2.

Why isn't supplemental oxygen viewed as doping? Some argue that it is a safety issue, that they do not want to take the risk of altitude illness, or frostbite. They want to, "experience climbing Everest," but can't or won't confront the challenge naturally so they modify that experience by boosting their own performance. If O2 allows one to accomplish a task that he or she otherwise could not do or was not willing to do then O2 is a performance-enhancing drug and should be treated as such.

Sadly, when someone who has climbed Everest with the aid of supplemental O2 and a "servant" to carry the extra bottles and prepare the route tells a rapt audience of non-climbers that he climbed Everest that is all he says. He fixates on the outcome and not the means used to achieve it. And if the audience isn't well-informed enough to ask about the means the speaker lets the omission slide, allowing them to think better of him.

A decade and more ago I cared deeply about the way we climbed more than whether we were successful. We tried to address naturally existing challenges with a minimum of technological advantages and tried over and over to answer the question, "How light is too light?" If we had learned the answer through actual experience I wouldn't be writing this. We came real close though.

Now I see supplemental oxygen as part of a much larger problem. As human beings, familiar with the history of the species and its potential, we dearly want to believe in extraordinary human performance. Many genuine, rare and truthful accomplishments paved the way for our belief in what might be done. Back in the day when something amazing was reported our first response was awe, inspiration, and maybe the brakes we placed on ourselves slackened a bit.

Times have changed. Cheating is commonplace and doping is rampant, even at the lowest levels of sport. When I look across a variety of disciplines it is apparent that no one is special and no one is immune: when a group of human beings get together some percentage of them are going to cheat or be susceptible to the idea of it. Sadly, it appears this is true for any sport and at some point our habit as an athlete or spectator becomes one of distrust. These days most great accomplishments call up a voice inside urging skeptical review.

People lie on resumés and cheat on tests to get jobs - not caring that they won't be able to DO the job if they get it. Amateur athletes lie about their accomplishments to invite positive social feedback - without caring that a lie is being praised, instead accepting the praise without its context. Pro athletes cheat to win, or to stay competitive against other cheaters, and do so for both money and prestige. Eventually they convince themselves the dope didn't help, that they deserved the medal, the reward, the status. That doping is so common has changed how we respond to the announcement of a spectacular performance or achievement.

Sadly, our skeptical reaction further imprisons us within the limitations we set for ourselves or accept from others who set limits for us. If we greet every great performance with suspicion what becomes of its potential to inspire? What means will we use to unlock our own potential? Who will plant the guideposts along the trail? What new level of performance by one or two individuals will free the hundreds struggling just beneath them?

This is what the cheaters have done to us. It is why we must expose and oppose them whenever it is possible.

Barry on the North Face of the Northeast Ridge with the North Col below, in the gully below the Pinnacles, above 8000m, reconaissance of the north side before our first attempt.