In my last post, I talked about how elite performance on technical terrain is similar to elite performance at altitude. But as we look at the development of these two games over the past 50 years, we see two quite different patterns.
I’ll use technical rock climbing as an example. In the 1950s the walls of Yosemite were originally climbed using artificial aid. This means that some bits of metal were hammered into the rock and the climber suspended his body from that to reach up and hammer yet another thing into the rock. As ascending these walls was a venture into the unknown, this technique made sense as it provided a necessary degree of security.
As it became clear that you could aid climb virtually any slice of rock, rock climbers changed the rules of the game by emphasizing free climbing, which means that they no longer hung from a piton in the rock but used only their hands and feet for upward progress. While this was more difficult and less secure, advances in equipment and technique meant that this approach was preferred due to the increased speed it provided. Climbers could further up the ante by dispensing with climbing partners and climbing roped but solo, or even climb solo without a rope. The whole point is that the game of rock climbing was modified as a result of improvement in equipment and technique. A similar progression in technique and style has taken place in ice climbing over the past decade or so. The rules of the game have been brought in line with the equipment and technique of today. And these rules really arise out of a need to retain an element of uncertainty in the outcome–not everyone can climb every route.
High-altitude climbing (I’m talking about the world’s highest peaks here) has seen even greater improvement in equipment and techniques, but has the average climber changed the game in response to this? No! In fact, the average climber on an 8000m peak is even more reliant on old-school style. They use more fixed ropes, more porters, more oxygen, and more guides than the climbers of the 1950s ever did. In a perverse way this is due to the improvements in equipment: rope is lighter, oxygen gear is lighter, and so on, so more can be carried up the hill.
The primary culprit here may be the emergence of the guided high-altitude commercial expedition. These folks make their money by getting as many people to the top as possible, and the last thing I’d want (if I was a guide) would be to increase the uncertainty in the outcome (ie the summit). Many of their clients are not ‘climbers’ in the strict sense, just like I’m not a ‘driver’ in the Indy Car sense. As a result, these clients don’t understand the stylistic and ethical considerations involved in their mode of ascent.
You might ask, why do rock climbers or ice climbers have a stronger sense of style? Frankly, it’s enforced by the climbing community. If you walk up to a popular rock climb and start hammering in gear, you’ll hear about it. If you say you climbed a particular route, you better make sure nobody saw you ‘cheating’ in some way.
The high altitude game has myriad risks and is very expensive, so it’s hard to blame individuals for style violations. But why not try to use a better style that reflects our ultralight equipment, knowledge of high altitude illness and physiology, and the improvements in our overall technical ability. This brings me back to the statement on style on my main Everest page.