Not My Words: Upon That Mountain

Paul scrambling the ridge of the East Face North Side of Seal Rock, Colorado

Trying to explain why we enjoy the things we enjoy is actually quite difficult. Why do I enjoy riding single-speed bicycles, climbing 5.4 multi-pitch, or eating Wendy's Baconators? Uh, because I do. How does anyone enjoy listening to The Beatles? I honestly do not know. Then again, I like music that's mostly yelling. I also enjoy reading mountaineering literature. In the excerpt below, early-20th Century alpinist Eric Shipton reflects on why he climbs mountains with a romantic eloquence far more charming and convincing than, "Uh, because I do." I thoroughly enjoy reading it and I hope you do too. 

It is impossible of course to provide an entirely satisfactory explanation for any recreation. The predominant motive in any human activity varies according to the temperament of the individual. Mountaineering provides good exercise in pleasant surroundings, a sense of satisfaction in overcoming difficulties, the joy, akin to dancing, of controlled rhythmic movement, a stimulating contact with danger, a wealth of beautiful scenery and a release from the tiresome restrictions of modern life. The expert likes to practice or display his skill. Some confess to having been drawn to climbing by a physical inferiority complex engendered by their failure at school to hit a ball straight and far. 

These motives are probably sufficient in themselves, and they certainly form the basis of many other sports. But in the deep devotion to any form of active endeavor there is generally something else we seek. In the case of mountaineering it is a kind of personal identification with the hills themselves, which comes of intimate understanding and strenuous contest and which brings with it a wealth of philosophical content. Above all, in my view, the attraction lies in the memory of those rare moments of intellectual ecstasy which occur perhaps on a mountain summit, perhaps on a glacier at dawn or in a lovely moonlit bivouac, and which appear to be the result of happy coincidence in the rhythm of mind and scene. These moments are not of course peculiar to mountaineering; they may be realized in deserts, on the sea and elsewhere. Such exaltation of feeling is achieved more often, I imagine, and in more normal circumstances by the mind of the creative artist, but for ordinary folk it would seem that it is more readily found in close contact with nature. -- Eric Shipton, Upon That Mountain (1944)

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