What invisible foe tugs at my legs?
I peer down at my feet and see nothing on the cliff face but me. The mountain is steep, and the air is thin. I’m only halfway to the summit again.
Hanging off the same ledge on Mount Whitney’s face.
Again, I feel pain. And fatigue has set in as I fight to stay attached to the rock. From this point, last time, I made my way back down in a state of utter misery and disbelief.
It tugs again.
On looking down and seeing no one, I let out a frustrated yell.
“Come on, what the hell? What’s pulling on my legs?”
A heaviness fills me as I’m trying to pass the ridge where Timmy fell. That’s why I returned to face and conquer my demons, my guilt. I feel so much angst inside. We climbed together often, but not on rock faces like this. I have more years of experience, having climbed many dangerous mountains.
And I’m challenging myself more and more with each choice of mountain. All steps in a bigger plan to complete the seven summits soon. Timmy, you only climbed some far less challenging mountains. You never even got to try Pikes Peak. This rock is different, a little higher.
Timmy loved to compete. And he also tried to stop me pursuing my dream to prepare for the seven summits. As he knew, he lacked experience. And couldn’t join me. So selfish. Trying to gaslight me.
So many people die up there on Everest, he said.
But as soon as I shut him down and reminded him of his inexperience, he decided he’d tag along. That he could climb with me.
No way, Timmy. Not a chance. And guess what happened? You died right here on a much less intense climb as compared to the seven summits. As I dangle here, wondering when my legs will get tugged again, I keep thinking about his stupidity.
I was apprehensive about taking him on any treacherous climb.
This mountain is a challenge for beginners. Steeper than climbers admit. You discovered that the hard way. Timmy did not like me not inviting him to my mountaineering escapades. He was convinced that he could climb any mountain challenge I wanted to face.
That damn competitor in him failed to see sense.
But I also know he just wanted to climb with me. He hated the idea of missing out. And he expressed his fear that I may fall one day on a challenge. That he should gain the experience and be at my side so I’m not alone.
But alone is how I like it.
Had to stop inviting him and cut him off.
Became a burden to have him with me. His climbing skills were not as tried and tested as mine. Christ, Timmy. I’m on my way to the summit of Everest. How the hell were you keeping up with me?
The stubborn assole.
I tried to leave him behind once or twice, but he’d follow me to my next mountain. I even lied once to him about not bothering with my weekend climbing plans. But hours after I’m gone, a phone call. And it’s you, Timmy. You found me, thanks to our caring, blabbing mother. I always tell her where I’m heading for my next climb so someone knows where I am.
I talk to myself as I dangle from the rope with whatever clings to my ankle with every attempt to climb up.
“I recall you telling me not to raise the bar, Timmy. But I’m not you and you couldn’t join me on every climb. After some climbs we did, it was time to part ways as climbing buddies. I couldn’t get that through to you. You were convinced that you’d climb any mountain anywhere with your brother, and prove you could match me. You, ready for K2 and Everest? Come on. You were stubborn. Too damn stubborn to accept that you couldn’t do that. Had to compete. Dumbass. This mountain is not as tough as what’s ahead. And you failed on this one, Timmy. I’m going to do it, Timmy. Several weeks in Nepal, and I will climb those peaks.” I sigh. “You could never join me. But you couldn’t take it. You couldn’t accept that you can’t compete with your brother at this level. Why? It was easy to accept how I’m a better climber. And now you want to stop me. Right?”
I peer down at my feet, yet there is nothing but a majestic, elevated view to see.
“Should have stopped you, Timmy. Refused to let you climb with me here.”
Something other than the force of gravity pulls on my body.
It’s a constant struggle to keep climbing.
I can stay attached to the rock face, no issue there. But with every raised foot, I feel the grip of a hand, a quick tug, almost like something wants to dissuade me from going higher.
Past the point where he died.
But I can do it, Timmy.
Gravity and clumsy climbing. No. Not me.
I can feel the clasp of stiff hands on my lower leg. I’m being pulled down.
“What is that?” I yell at the icy rock. Something tugs at my leg. Not enough to make me fall. But enough to cause me to pause.
“Damn it. What is that?”
I look around and see only the sheer drop to distant jagged rocks at the mountain’s foot.
“What the hell?”
That’s not gravity, or my boot; something pulls at my feet every time my foot seeks leverage.
Perhaps I made a mistake and should never have returned to this rock. But I’m a climber. It’s what I do and I don’t quit on any challenge.
I had to try again.
For me. For me.
“No,” I say, as this unseen weight tries to interfere with my climb. My hands will not quit their holds. Not like Timmy as his body tumbled over itself toward the ground below upon my previous disastrous climb here.
I keep my balance; I can feel my crampons slip on the icy rock face below me as it tugs.
Alone, with an invisible tugging weight that still won’t go away.
Is the foe my guilt? Me doing this? Or is it really Timmy?
It feels like a grip; much like a hand clasping on my shin when I try to climb.
I can’t see it, but I know it’s there. Timmy, making me face my guilt, the weight of it. Is that it? How I should have stopped him coming. How I should have not brought him to this dangerous face.
“That it, Timmy.” I yell. “Blaming me for that, too. Your death. Well, screw you.”
I punch the rock, sending a sharp pain through my knuckles.
“I tried to stop you, Timmy. You just wouldn’t listen.” I catch my breath as stress is of no use this high up. Must get my focus back. “Yet I feel responsible. And damn it, I should not.”
Every inch I climb, it tries to pull me back down as my grip on the rope tightens.
I scream out. “I’ll just dangle here. Unlike you, Timmy, I’m not stupid enough to unrope myself just to…just to scramble across this ledge…”
My wits and experience will prevent my climb from failing here today.
Timmy brought none of those attributes here.
And the rock faces will punish anyone for that.
“This is hopeless. Whatever you are, I won’t be dissuaded from climbing the mountain. That you, Timmy? Hey, are you here to torment me? Stop me. As you were not good enough to beat the mountain? Is that it?”
My regret at bringing Timmy here must die. It must. The weight of my remorse won’t pull me off the mountain’s challenge and head back down, or worse, into the void below.
“I’m not afraid to die, Timmy. You were,” I laugh, mockery at this unseen being, “You were, brother.”
My eyes snap open, and I grimace. This is not my first rodeo. No supernatural force will change what I’m used to. I’m alone on the mountain. I have no friends or family to rush to my aid to help me.
My mountain climbs are pure personal escapism.
I choose a challenge and head off to meet it.
But usually, it’s a different mountain. This is my second visit here. I must prove to myself that I can conquer this, as when done, maybe I won’t blame myself anymore.
For Timmy’s passing.
Nothing I could do. He did not listen to my advice before and during the climb.
I can only rely on myself and my experience in these situations. The mountain is my mistress, the air my lover, but she will be cruel if I don’t stay focused on her.
It’s an experience I’m used to. But not you, Timmy.
The weight is gone. Has it stopped? I peer up. The summit beckons the climber in me to conquer this challenge.
I can’t believe he’s followed me here. In the months since his untimely passing, I’ve seen him. Haunting me. Sometimes in the shadowed background of a mirror reflection, sometimes across the street staring at me. At least, it seems I see him as he’s gone in a few blinks of an eye.
“What do you want, Timmy? Now you follow me here too. Not even death keeps you away from me when climbing. Huh?” My strained voice echoes below me.
I didn’t let Timmy down a year ago, right here on this rock. He was a foolhardy amateur trying to prove himself, trying to prove his manhood. He loved to dismiss any responsibility for his mistakes, yet I’d be the one to blame if he had an accident.
And somehow, I’d be the one apologising.
But he didn’t survive.
The mountain didn’t kill him; his ignorance took care of that.
The prick unroped himself. It’s possible to scramble here on this ledge as the rock is easier. But I pleaded with him not to do it.
“You had nothing to prove, Timmy,” I shout, “Nothing to ask of the mountain or of me. You were a fool. And I must stop this guilt. Your death is not my fault.”
I’m a professional climber, Timmy, I shouted at him that day I lost him. Don’t you scramble, you’ll lose your footing, I yelled and yelled.
This is a daunting rock face to gawk at for so many, but a majestic sight to me. I love how the sheer wall reaches up into the sky. I love its rugged surface, the challenge of its cracks and crevices.
Another step towards the coming bigger mountains this world has to offer.
I was born for this shit. But not you, Timmy.
I regard the large boulders that jut from the rock face. Any experienced climber sees plenty of potential handholds and footholds. I can do it.
It was expected that Timmy would struggle. His ego told him the weathered surface’s need for accuracy and precision was not above him or his skill.
Should I have tried harder to dissuade him from climbing? Should I have? Should I have…?
No, no more guilt. I want to think only of the climb. Yet, in the eerie silence, broken only by light winds and the sound of my breath, and the rasping of the rope against the rock, I think of Timmy.
Stop the weight of this guilt, I tell myself.
“Timmy, you untied yourself from the one thing protecting you. It was your choice.” I shout as though he’s actually below me, clasping my shin and sliding the grip to my ankle. But it feels as though the summit has ears to listen to.
He lost his footing.
I had to watch him tumble, end over end, like a rag doll flung from a window.
Until his screaming died.
I tried to stop him from attempting the climb at the foot. Sloping sides and sharp ridges all the way to the summit. It’s a treacherous climb despite being a far easier challenge for experienced climbers, and I’ve felt foolish for thinking even for a second, he may actually do it. I give folks a chance. Sometimes people need a hand to pull them up.
I should not have thought for a second he could climb with me.
Not one second.
“I tried to stop you, Timmy. This rock face was beyond you.” My voice is as taut as the rope, but makes no sense to me. He was the fool. He knew he lacked endurance. Your damned complacency, brother. He fell, but it’s not my fault.
“You didn’t respect the mountain. Now you’re dead.” I shout. “I told you not to remove the rope. You refused to listen. Why compete with your more experienced brother? It was your choice.”
I hope that if the weight at my feet is him, he’ll listen this time.
No guilt. I asked him not to climb. I won’t bear this any longer for not trying harder to stop him anymore.
I peer downward at my feet. Is he there? Unseen. Clinging to my ankle.
“No, Timmy. I won’t let you do this to me. You want me to quit, right? You chose to unrope yourself. Take some fucking responsibility.”
The mountain is steep, very steep. It drops off into a bed of rocks bordering the woods canopy. I block thoughts of Timmy’s body tumbling down the rock face. Screw that. Got to love viewing nothing but air beneath me. Nothing but air for miles down.
Not a feeling my passion will lose. Not me.
No accident will change that.
It’s an encounter with nature’s raw beauty, a manifestation of the human spirit pushing its limits. This climb is a reminder of the delicate balance between human skill and the unforgiving rock face.
That’s the thrill, and it’s a rock face I respect.
I yell again. “You hear me! Stop yanking at my legs. Are you mad at me? Want to make my climb difficult as you didn’t make it? Take some damn responsibility. You killed yourself when you unroped, you ignorant prick. And tried to scramble across this ledge. I yelled at you. I told you not to. Damn you.”
I weep and rest my helmet against the rock face.
This is not my fault. Timmy’s death is not on me. I must stop blaming myself. He endangered his life. Not me. His choice was to climb and to untie himself to scramble across a ledge, something he’d never trained for.
I fight away the tears.
I can defeat this. I reach the ledge, face that demon. Not a quitter and I’ll make it to the top this time, not going back down yet. I keep going up this time. Nothing will change that. It’s just another climb, just another challenge to me.
A hard tug again on both my ankles as I try to climb.
That unseen grip.
I will show no fear.
This is something I can do. I push my foot up against the rock and give it a good shove. I will stop myself from living in shame. My brother chose to climb, his choice to die.
It’s not my fault.
He chose to die here.
I yell again at the icy rock. “You climbed with me, Timmy. You followed me. The risks were clear.”
I pause for thought.
“You need to hear me say it. Okay. If that’s what it takes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t convince you to stay on the ground. Sorry that you died here. But that’s on you, Timmy. All on you. Hear me?”
I push up again, reaching for a good grip.
Pulls again. This time it was harder, but again, not enough to lose my grip.
In a soft and empathising tone, I try to reason with the spirit that tugs my leg. I gasp as this may not be about this particular climb. It may be about every climb. How much I tried to abandon him. None of that matters now.
“You’re trying to get my attention. Is that it? You want me to accept you? You want to be at my side on every climb. But, not even now, will you see that can’t happen.”
I huff.
“I can climb it, Timmy. You never could. Not a chance in hell were you able to join me on my next climbs. You knew that deep down. But your ego got in the way. Your need to tag along with your bro, be always there with your bro. Everywhere. It’s time to stop competing.”
I peer down at my ankle. Is it still gripped? Can I keep going?
“Always had to copy my every move. But not this, Timmy. Please. Let me do it.”
I think for a moment about how much Timmy wanted to travel with me, and not be left out. He wanted to feel wanted. That’s what he desired from his brother. For me to say just once how much I would love to have him at my side, travelling with me, and climbing with me. He would not have done much more climbing past this rock. Even Timmy would have understood that.
“Tell you what. When I go to the seven summits, Timmy, you can come with me as I climb. How about that? You want to climb with your brother. Then be at my side as I climb this mountain. And across South America’s biggest challenges and then onto Nepal. You and me, bro. That’s what you wanted. To climb with bro.”
I pause for a poignant thought and lower my voice.
“You can do it now. You’re invited. Join me. Okay.”
I peer down. Yet am I really talking to him? I see nothing.
But if he is there, in spirit, perhaps he can now climb with me, follow me but not haunt me.
Is this enough? Are these the words he wants to hear?
“Come with me. Be at my side when I climb those peaks, when I stand in triumph at Everest’s summit. Be there by my side. I’d like you to be there. Okay?” I lower my voice to a soft tone. “I’m inviting you, bro. Be at my side.”
My foothold feels less heavy.
My back is straight. I bring a knee upward, and dig into the rock with my crampon.
It’s progress.
No force tugs at my legs as I push upward.
Is my brother at peace today? I don’t need to carry his weight anymore, but I know he’ll be at my side on every mountain face.
I release a long breath of relief.
And I reach up for a good grip, and another, and on.
