VIGILANCE
by Stephen Koch
Vigilance is alert watchfulness. And as a climber it is paramount to be vigilant, not only for my own safety, but for the safety of my partner. Through the act of belaying, or protecting a partner with the rope, is when I am most watchful. My partner calls out, "watch me" and my total focus returns (if not already there) to safeguarding their every move by constantly giving and sometimes taking in (when they climb down) rope. My mind wanders often while belaying. Belaying can be the most exciting thing ever and a moment or two later, the most tedious activity known to man, sometimes the activity of belaying can go on for hours on a challenging lead. Belaying is usually more exciting when I can observe my partner. This direct observation makes it easier for me to be encouraging and I regularly say with all my heart and hope and belief, "I've got you" or "I'm with you" or "You've got this!" or “You’re doing great!”
Belaying is a love hate thing for me. On the one hand I love being in a position to encourage and coax my partner up. On the other I have intense feelings of impatience, and become critical and think, no KNOW, how much faster things would go if I were on the sharp end, only to climb up and realize first hand the challenge my partner faced on lead. This mind dance could be credited with my success as a mountaineer, but can also be credited with my continued suffering. Would I benefit from less vigilance in the mountains? The bottom line with belaying is that you better be vigilant because your partner’s life literally depends on it. If they fall and you have too much rope out due to lack of vigilance, they may hit a ledge or the ground. There are numerous examples of this occurring throughout the climbing world and I would venture to say this is one of the leading causes of injuries in climbing.
Before a climb I vigilantly select the gear, taking the bare minimum to increase the chances of success. This might be contrary to some people’s thinking…why not take more, that way you will have it if you need it. Well the more you take, “just in case,” the more you carry. The more you carry the heavier you are. The heavier you are the slower you go. The slower you go the shorter distance you cover in a given amount of time. Classic example…if you take bivouac gear, you will use it. If you don’t take it, you won’t use it and probably won’t need it. You will climb faster as a result of being lighter and also being more committed. Are you willing to go there? The risks may be greater, but so are the rewards. It is also important to check the weather. An example of being vigilant and getting stung by going light on a long and difficult route at altitude, with Jimmy Chin, Kami Sherpa, Lapka Dorge Sherpa, I was climbing the North Face of Everest. We took only one two man tent, two sleeping pads, two stoves to melt snow and cook food, two days of food, a 100' 7mm rope, a few nuts and titanium pitons, a few slings and carabiners and that was pretty much it...oh yea, and my snowboard. Had we brought more food we would have been in a better position to continue to 8,000 meters, with the summit attainable from there, two thousand feet above our current position on the massive face. BUT, we also would have been slower as a result of carrying more food. And we may all be dead if we had continued up. After retreating from about half way up the face we saw a fracture in the snow where an avalanche had ripped out, right above our high point.
Vigilance goes hand in hand with intensity for me and everything I love. While climbing I do EVERYTHING that I am capable of to move faster and be more efficient...giving a courtesy hold on rappel, making a V-Thread while belaying my partner, eating, drinking, pissing, shedding layers, donning layers, organizing gear, stacking the ropes, giving a consistent and snug belay, giving encouragement to the second as well as the leader, shutting the fuck up when that “helpful” voice that loves to justify the criticisms with “it’s for your own good”, and other drivel; keeping my criticisms to myself, trying not to beat myself up for having the criticisms dance around my head, keeping the psych high and the true belief in our ultimate success paramount, until it becomes so, all play into the separatelessness of life, thought and climbing.
Am I soloing? Do I need to be completely secure? Can I survive a fall here? How important is speed here? What time is it? Do we have a headlamp? Extra batteries? What phase is the moon today? Is it clear enough for us to be granted moonlight? What is the temp? Is ice likely to fall naturally from above? Am I climbing below others who may not be as vigilant about knocking down ice? Even if they are, the ice still falls, always falls, no matter the completeness of the vigilance. That is one sketchy aspect of being in the natural, uncontrollable world of frozen water. Will I find safety from the threatening projectiles beyond shrugging my shoulders, trying to fit my entire body under my helmet?
Vigilant listening: Survival in the mountains often depends on listening. With avalanches, my earliest signs are usually auditory. Jet airplanes sound like avalanches, so I pay attention every time I hear something. And fortunately it is usually just a plane. I listen to the sound of the ice axe as it makes contact with the ice to determine my next move: whether to remove it and swing again for a more secure stick, or commit to ascend. It’s a decision in the moment to “go” or “no go”, and in that moment I trust the sound more than the feel of the axe. So while I am vigilant about conditions around me that I can see and touch, I also pay utmost attention to what I hear.
Even when vigilant to the last detail, shit still hits the fan. And once that happens, you take in all the data around you to get yourself through it. Better to have the shit hit the fan than you hit the deck. One time in New Hampshire, it just happened. I had been applying the utmost vigilance and the next thing I knew I was in the air, surprised as hell to be falling past my last ice screw. Would I stop before hitting the ground? I hoped so. The screamer did its job and I stopped. An immediate rush of adrenaline had me climb back up 20 feet before I stopped to completely asses the situation.
So does vigilance really matter? Does it? Only if you want to survive.