“Being fearful—but walking toward it anyway— that’s one of the best lessons I can teach my students.”
—Toya Eastman, Salt Lake climbing coach and instructor
Introduction
I was going to wait before diving into the topic of fear, but I decided to write about it now for two reasons. First, because fear, and the two closely related subjects of risk and courage, are central to any conversation about adventure. And secondly, because there’s an enormous amount of collective fear in America right now. People are afraid of losing their jobs; their life savings; their health insurance; social security; and other benefits upon which they rely. They are afraid of seeing what remains of the natural beauty of their country destroyed. Minorities and immigrants are afraid of being persecuted, arrested, deported, and worse. There’s plenty of talk about staying positive during difficult times (which is important), but it should also be acknowledged that people have every right to be afraid. The antidote to fear is re-gaining control. To either take constructive action that neutralizes the threat, or if that isn’t possible, removing oneself from the danger. One reason there’s so much fear in the US, is that as individuals we have little power to change what’s occurring. It’s only through collective action that the situation can be changed, and, for the moment, the country remains divided against itself. But, it’s important to remember that even when we feel powerless to change the bigger picture, we still have a choice. No matter how great the challenge, we can choose to live with courage, boldness, and grace…
Yosemite, 1970’s
Falling. The two-gallon water jug is falling down the sheer face of Half Dome. But as I watch, the bottle transforms. Suddenly, it’s me who’s falling, wrapped up in bright fabric which flutters like the wings of a giant bird tumbling down the long corridors of air. Without sound or trace, my body disappears into the pool of white boulders at the base of the wall two thousand feet below……And I jerk awake.
It’s an old familiar dream, a ghost from my early days of climbing, yet still so vivid I feel sweat on the palms of my hands.
When the bottle fell, we had been climbing for three days. Sure, we should have shoved the plastic jug inside the haul bag, but we were in a rush to summit, so we clipped it on below, where the constant abrasion eventually severed the cord.
By then we were only a few rope lengths from the top and we were too tired to care. Yes, we would be thirsty that night, but at least we would be done with the wall. There would be a full moon, and people had hiked up the Cable Route to celebrate the moonrise by partying on the summit of Half Dome. We could hear their laughter drifting down from above.
That’s when someone on the rim yelled that I should stop where I was and watch.
“Watch what?” I asked.
“Someone’s going to jump,” came the reply.
This was the late seventies, I had heard of BASE jumping, an acronym for sky diving from Buildings, Antennae, Spans and Earth, but I had never seen it done. Seconds later a man leapt from the “The Visor,” a brim of granite projecting from the top of Half Dome. As he fell, he tossed a fistful of bright fabric behind him. With a crack like a rifle shot, the chute opened, swelling with air. But something was wrong. The canopy twisted, and instead of gliding out and away toward safety, the kite spun violently back toward the wall. There was a sickening crunch as the jumper hit the vertical granite at full speed, then the kite collapsed, and he began to fall. And as he fell, the kite wrapped round and round his body, like a rainbow-colored shroud.
“Did he make it?” someone called. In that place Half Dome overhangs, so from their vantage point on top the spectators couldn’t see what had happened.
“No,” I said. “He’s dead.”
It seemed as though there should have been so much more to say, but suddenly I felt immensely tired.
Then, without warning, two more men came diving off the Visor. Once again, the nylon in their hands was tossed back into the velocity of their descent. Once again, the brightly colored fabric exploded into parachutes, and their downward rush was transformed into flight.
But this time neither kite spun back toward the wall—toward death. This time both jumpers soared outward. With shouts of elation, they drifted away, out over the darkening valley, weaving a slow descending gyre toward the forests, meadows, rivers. Down to the land of the living.
Life or death? Gain or loss? Grief or joy? What invisible hand tips the scales?
I had never seen another human die, and one had just died violently, before my eyes. And I was stunned that even though they knew the other man had perished, the second pair jumped anyway.
But I was young, so I was most shocked by what didn’t happen.
A human life had been extinguished, yet nothing changed. A man had just died, yet not for an instant did the earth pause in its orbit. The swallows never hesitated in their sweeping flight. The clouds never slowed their passage across the evening sky. And after a few minutes, even the full moon revelers seemed to forget all about the incident, and went back to their celebration.
In that moment, I learned that death is nothing special, that despite all the melodrama we assign to it, death is as common as life itself. In fact, life and death are not separate at all, they are one thing, forever bound in a single mystery.
And none of us are immune. Like a mirage, the shimmering border between life and death moves as we do. No matter how careful, talented, smart, experienced, or lucky we believe ourselves to be, death is always by our side.
Perhaps the greatest mystery is not death, but that we live at all. For what keeps us alive? Is it our superior intelligence, skill, or good judgment? Is it luck or fate? Are there gods watching over us?
Perhaps it’s all those things, but when we are honest, we see that it’s mostly fear that protects us. Fear makes us cautious, focused, attentive. Fear motivates us to learn, to master the skills necessary to survive. Despite all the macho posturing about being fearless, fearlessness would be a death sentence.
As the Canadian climber, kayaker, and paraglider Will Gadd has written on social media, “Fear is not the enemy to be overcome. It is one of the most powerful tools I have for surviving and thriving in daily life and high stakes environments—if I choose to dance with it, listen to it, understand, learn and grow with it, and use it to change.”
As Gadd suggests, when we choose to dance with fear rather than ignoring or suppressing it, fear becomes our ally, a wise counselor who cautions against taking foolish risks. Fear invites us to weigh the consequences of our actions against the rewards, before it’s too late.
Modern society is obsessed with safety and therefore fear. Because the safer we try to be, the more fearful we become. This alone is an excellent reason to learn how to work with fear, because when fear takes the form of chronic insecurity, anxiety, and stress, as it often does, it can prevent us from reaching our highest potential. In fact, it can stop us from ever trying at all.
Fear is one of our most powerful (and certainly unpleasant) emotions. It has to be, to get our attention. But not all forms of fear are created equal. When I talk about fear in The Adventurous Heart, typically I’m referring to the fear we experience when we voluntarily choose to engage in risky activities. It’s vital to emphasize, that there are other types of fear and danger as well, those that are involuntary, chronic, debilitating, and corrosive. People who are living in constant fear for their wellbeing, do not need more adventure (or stress of any kind), they need to take whatever steps are necessary to escape the circumstances that are threatening them.
It's all about balance. When life is stable and secure, adventure activities like climbing, skiing, kayaking, sailing, surfing, etc. can teach us to work with fear in healthy and constructive ways. By learning the fundamentals of adventure sports, then practicing them mindfully, so that the level of risk is always commiserate with our skill, we can learn how to safely control our bodies and minds in dangerous circumstances. And those lessons can then be applied to other aspects of our lives.
The goal is overcoming our strong aversion to fear. To stop freaking out, simply because we are afraid, and then, gradually to replace repulsion with curiosity. What is my fear trying to tell me? Am I in actual danger, or is the danger only perceived? What can I learn by staying and working through my fear?
The goal is, what they call in Thailand, a “cool mind,” one that is clear-eyed and honest about its ability to meet the challenge. One that makes decisions based on reason, rather than passion or pride. It’s the discernment to act decisively when conditions seem right—and to walk away without shame—when they do not. Sometimes that means being brave enough to risk being called a coward. As outdoor journalist Steve Howe once told me, “Beware your friends. The most dangerous sentences you’ll ever hear in ‘adrenaline bro culture’ are “Don’t worry, it’s easy dude!” and “You’ll be fine.”
Generally speaking, women are lucky enough not to be prone to this kind of “testosterone poisoning.” But they may suffer from the opposite problem, which is not pushing hard enough and giving up too easily. Often, risking life and limb is all too easy for men (especially if they believe they will be applauded for it), while women are better at emotional courage. Unafraid to admit that they are afraid, women are much better at walking away when they feel the risks exceed the rewards.
Obviously, fear is an immense topic, far too big to address in a single essay, so it will come up again and again in The Adventurous Heart. Every era and every culture has something to say about fear. In the Havamal, or “Words of the High One” from the Norse tradition, the god Odin urges his followers to “Be cautious, but not fearful.”
Perhaps when it comes to something as complex as fear, that’s the best that can be said. Be careful, but do not allow yourself to be crippled by fear. Always take the long view. No single route, wave, rapid, or couloir is worth dying for. Never risk your life for an Instagram post.
In the Amazon, tribal peoples say: “Lessen your fear, because if you let it grow, it is you who will become small.”
And to me, this is the greatest danger, that we will not find the courage to be who we really are; that we will fail to grasp the potential of this one incredibly brief, infinitely precious, life we have been given.
And that, truly, is something to be afraid of.
Really enjoyed this Chris, I have always been interested in fear, and its impact on one's life and particularly my life. Thanks, Catherine
This I know first hand - truer words ne'er have been spoken...
Excerpt: "As outdoor journalist Steve Howe once told me, “Beware your friends. The most dangerous sentences you’ll ever hear in ‘adrenaline bro culture’ are “Don’t worry, it’s easy dude!” and “You’ll be fine.”"