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I have been processing some thoughts. I would love to hear what you think. Sorry about the wordiness...

Mainly, I have been thinking about legacies.

Now when I say “legacy” I mean what defines a person once they’re gone; a “legacy” as what a person is known by future generations for.

I have been reading “In the Shadow of Denali” by mountaineer/photographer/adventurer Jonathan Waterman. In his book, Jon Waterman explores several different accounts of people’s encounters with North America’s highest peak, 20,320 ft. Mt. McKinley (a.k.a. “Denali” native Athabaskan meaning “the High One”). He explores stories of triumph, controversy, and misfortune that transpire on or in the (symbolic) shadow of Alaska’s Denali.

All in all, “In the Shadow of Denali” is an interesting read, but walking away from the book, one story stuck with me; this particular story has to do with a young and ambitious climber by the name of John Mallon Waterman (not the author JON Waterman). Johnny grew up in Connecticut, as a young child he was fascinated with leaning about the Civil War, but by the time Johnny Waterman graduated high-school he had fallen in love with climbing. His entire world, friends, family, and ambition were wrapped up in climbing and mountaineering.

Johnny climbed worldwide in places like Turkey, Greece, the Alps, etc. In the process, completing many climbs up world-famous routes. However, by the time he graduated he had also lost a great many friends in the mountains including his closest climbing partner.

The demise of the near-entirety of his social circle in addition to his parents going through a turbulent divorce rattled the young climber. He began whittling the large number of his expeditions to solo adventures. The more friends he lost, (including his brother Bill), the more he bent his will, energy, and focus to the mountains. After the pain of so much death and estrangement with his divorced parents, Johnny engaged in many solo forays, including a vastly difficult and technical ascent of the South Spur of Alaska’s 14,700’ Mount Hunter which took him 145 days to finish (completely alone for the duration). This feat has been immortalized today as one of those legendary ascents by a legendary figure.

After years of numerous mountaineering accomplishments, bizarre friendships, years estranged from his father and stepmother, Waterman began to degrade further. He eventually became obsessed with accomplishing winter solo ascent of Denali. After a few weeks of being thwarted in the ascent of his intended route, something broke in Waterman. One day he left a letter in his tent and struck-out for an unclimbed ridge on Denali. This particular ridge was dubbed as “a suicide run” by Reinhold Messner (perhaps the world’s best and most innovative climber of all time). It was clear to Johnny Waterman’s father, Guy Waterman, that his son had set off not intending to come back. He left his supplies, and set out on a difficult route none could truly conquer. A heavy past and declining career proved too much for the young climber to bear, leaving Johnny without hope or reason to continue.

The Author, JON Waterman happened to be friends with Guy Waterman, JOHNNY Waterman’s estranged father. Some sixteen years after the disappearance of Johnny, Jon set out into the Vermont woods to visit the hermit like abode of Guy Waterman and his second wife:

“During a recent visit – I lost the path to the Waterman’s rural property. I thought about Johnny a lot that day. I thought that few people indeed can afford to commit themselves irrevocably to their dreams, and I admired him deeply for that. Like Icarus, Johnny had cut off all the moorings to his loved ones and flew into the alluring white heat of the sun.
I didn’t find Guy until twilight, tending his garden a hundred yards off, under the light of a lantern. When I shouted ‘Hello!’ he ran towards me clutching the lantern, with ecstasy and surprise shining with childlike joy on his face. When his saffron light finally fell on my face, he was plainly crestfallen, even though it had been years since he had seen me.
The next morning, Guy paused in front of a woodpile. He looked into my eyes; he tried to smile. Then he apologized about the way he had greeted me the night before. He explained that once in a while he will greet an unidentified visitor out in the dark and think that maybe for just a scant moment that maybe, just maybe, one of his sons has finally come home.”
- Jonathan Waterman, ‘Lone Wolf (the Other John Waterman),’ from “In the Shadow of Denali”

I suppose what strikes me the most is that at the end of all of Johnny Waterman’s feats of skill, endurance, and suffering, his life seemed to amount to naught. He had no one to celebrate with, his friends perished in pursuit of those glourious summits, and He, himself, lost his life, having given up.

Sure, Johnny had left a Legacy. He is remembered. Jon Krakauer, a famous mountaineer, and author of Into Thin Air and Into the Wild, recounts Johnny Waterman’s feats of endurance as well as his profound loneliness and ability to cut all familial ties to achieve something great. Based on these similar characteristics, Krakauer even likens Johnny Waterman to Christopher McCandless, the subject of Into the Wild. Krakauer held Waterman’s 145 day solo of Mount Hunter as one of the most prolific feats of Alaskan mountaineering.

Yet despite this great feat, and stunning career, all John had left at his end was his accomplishment. In the cold shadow of loneliness, those accomplishments paled in fear, as they were poor insulation from the frozen teeth of despair. In the wake of Johnny’s ultimate journey, Johnny’s father, (his only surviving family), was a wistful man who wanted no more than his son to come home.

There is a mindset upon mountaineers and outdoors people. This mindset is one of disdain for the civilized world, and it’s a mood that treats the Climb as a transcendent experience. The Climb becomes what one lives for, works to pay for, and trains to be better at.

When I first began immersing myself in the world of mountains, I wholeheartedly adopted this mindset. I (at least attempted) adopted the new persona, for no other reason than my desire to identify with my own newfound world.

I was fully content to go on my merry way, the surly mountaineer whose sole solace was the hills.

I began my biggest trip in the summer of 2011. I set out with my ethics professor, Terry, and his daughter, Allison on the John Muir Trail. The John Muir Trail (JMT) is a 211 mile trail through the Sierra Nevada mountains. The trail begins in the exquisite Yosemite Valley, up through Tuolomne Meadows, south through Yosemite National Park, John Muir Wilderness, Ansel Adams Wilderness, Devil’s Post-pile National Monument, Sequoia/Kings Canyon National Park, following the very spine of the range to the Mount Whitney, at 14,505 ft, the highest peak in the continental United States.

My trip on the John Muir Trail remains one of the best experiences of my life due to the intense challenge and scintillating victories I experienced along its length. One of these victories was a lesson I learned on an unexpected (and very lonely) detour.

I was around day 14 of 18 into my trip. Unfortunately, my two companions had to tap out earlier in the trip because of an untimely sickness, and I had been hiking with people I had met on the trail. We had hiked through two days of rain and climbed two of major passes on our way south to Whitney. We had just topped out Mather Pass, below which there was a basin leading to 14,058 foot Split Mountain that I had wanted to summit as a side trip, plus I would be able to get cell reception from Split’s summit. Therefore, I parted ways with members of my impromptu trail-family below the Pass and struck out across a glacial bowl toward Split’s twin summits.

Crossing the bowl marked the first time that I was majorly alone. Even in the mountains along seldom-traveled trails there is a chance you will see someone. I was moving cross-country in the Sierra. The loneliness and homesickness that I was able to bury in the midst of fellowship and tedium reared its head. I questioned my motives for pursuing a side-summit. I began to worry about the possibility of something happening to me. I lambasted myself for my decision to try to climb this summit as I gained a saddle below Split Mountain and saw the very broad and very steep talus field leading to Split’s north summit. Exhausted and despondent I began to ask myself why I was doing this. I wanted to keep going. I needed to keep going. Something would not let me stop. Between the loneliness, exertion, and vastness of the task before me I was torn and burnt out.

I did what any reasonable person would do: I sat down and I cried, the weight of stress and difficulty unseen came pouring out.

I realized my decision to try this summit was one originally based out of desire to conquer, or to adopt further the anti-social mountain man persona. I needed to live up to that which I said I would do. I needed to become a certain person.
But why?

I then realized that the reason I needed this accomplishment was due to the fact that I needed to appear a certain way to people. That my seemingly selfish and self-centered pursuit was orchestrated because I loved who it made me become. I was someone better who was better for other people, adored by other people, and inspire other people to greater things. There was a deep part of myself that wanted to be different than other so that I would have value in their eyes, and just as deeply, I needed to affect people.

I needed to matter.

Now the mountaineering was more selfish than not, but I realized then that people are inextricable from their social context. Greatness comes not from the brilliance of an individual alone, but a light which shines brighter in some places than others. I also realized that light is not meant to shine, simply for shining’s sake, but to shed light in others darkness.

Thinking about this, I wonder about Johnny Waterman. He was a product of tragic and difficult circumstance, but in the end I ask “What did his legacy amount to?” What legacy and feat is so great that it will always be remembered and never be duplicated? Time is long and our memories are short. Will time and generations reaching into far millennia really remember the deeds of today? Will they remember one lonely individual toiling up a long and snow-crenellated mountain ridge?

I ask, “What did Guy Waterman, Johnny’s father remember?” In the end he just wanted his son.

In this, I identified with Johnny Waterman’s tragic tale. Where the people in his life vanished from and disappointed him; he turned to carve his name with stone in the pages of time. I realized the greatest legacy is not a name attached to a deed that is remembered all the days. The greatest legacy is the people we have contact with in the every-day. Those people we pray with and people we play with. Those people we bless and those people we curse. Our legacy is the families we leave behind to do their own deeds. What renown outlives a bloodline that endures the generations? What deed outlives an incarnate legacy that may forget a name, but everyday lives out the choices of his or her forebears?

Now, I think pushing ones limits and pursuing goals is a good and healthy thing. Yet there are too many stories of passionate souls given over to the love of sport and danger. There are too many stories of people who have died in pursuit of legacies wrought of folly and misguided zeal. Now I suppose there is truly some benefit to being great, but I fear becoming like those willing to sacrifice relationships or even one’s own life.

What goal, pursued in the name of vibrant life, is worth attaining even if that very life is lost in the process?

Rather in the midst of Johnny Waterman’s journey, and reflecting on my own, I think that I will decide to choose a long life. I think it to be sad irony to cut ties from my family and friends, set on consuming myself within the heat of the sun. To seek brief, and brilliant greatness that will be a speck totally lost in the overwhelming light of the sun. Rather I will live on in the light of day, flying high only when it is to lead others to a place where they can better see the grandiose world beneath.

Hi Thanks for the study of self worth . Your words are very hard lessons many never learn . Doug

Brilliant !

What a beautiful post. I was so touched by your honesty… by what you experienced, and what you came to understand from those incidents. As I read you post I was immediately taken back to similar experiences I’ve had on past extended hikes. Those extraordinary moments when we get glimpses of who we really are, our life and the universe.

Dave summed it up well as “brilliant”. Thank you for sharing your experience and thoughts.

Rosie

"...disdain for the civilized world..." "...to adopt further the anti-social mountain man persona..." brought back memories of some BS that I read, during my college years, about being a Climber becuase I was addicted to adrenaline...

I think the problem is that we have come to expect Instant everything...

Gain experience thru YEARS & YEARS of climbing progressively harder stuff... get in better shape... and most of the FEAR will go away.

If I'm missing the point, I'll use the fact that my brain is going dull as I'm growing old...

I do agree that you have a brilliant writing style.

Thank you snacking bear for your post. I really enjoyed it, and it's an interesting point of view. Everyone has their own reason for being in the mountains. For some it's the solace and peace that comes with the pristine beauty of the wilderness, for others it is a place to provide self esteem through self-imposed challenges. We may not all wish to travel in a herd, but I think in the end everyone needs human companionship and compassion to feel truly alive.

Richard, I may be wrong, but I think you are missing the point of this post. I interpreted his comments "...disdain for the civilized world..." "...to adopt further the anti-social mountain man persona..." as more generalizations on what he thought the general population perceived mountaineers to be. I felt the important point that Snacking Bear was making was the realizations that came to him after the gantlet of emotions that he went thru - being on the trail for an extended period of time and culminated with the total realization of being totally “alone”.

I think sometimes we have to reach “rock bottom” to make break-thru’s, and what he expressed as he sat on the side of the trail and cried and then ultimately realized about himself probably qualified as a break-thru for him. I took it as a report on his own experiences, nothing more. I appreciated what Snacking Bear was expressing.

But you are right, Richard, there is no substitute for experience.

Wherever we go, there we are.

Thank you Snacking Bear. I love the mountains, always have and always will. I don't get out nearly as much as I would like to. When I do, I refer to the act as "shaking the cobwebs loose". It gives me the opportunity to 1. Be thankful for this Creation and the Creator of this beauty. Yes, I personally believe in God. 2. Allows me put aside the daily struggles I experience in the city. 3. If I am with others, it seems to deepen our relationship as we share what at times may be somewhat perilous journeys.

So, that being said, as much as I love the mountains, would I personally choose them over having very frequent contact with those I love? No I would not. Would I prefer the mountains over having frequent contact with dear friends? No I would not.

I think the most important achievement one can attain in life is to make a positive impact on those around us. To be there when someone we know is hurting. To give a hug, an arm around the shoulder or to just be there to listen. Personally, I would rather have something like "he was there when he was needed" on my tombstone than anything else, including how many 1st ascents I did or did not do.

Legacy, the word is rich sounding to me. Rich in meaning for sure. For me it refers to people I have been priveleged to have as friends or family. Ones who had strength of character even during the darkest of days. Ones who stayed the course and made it thru the storms of life, still with smiles and heads up high.

Although I am not on The Mountain nearly as much as many in this board, I know from being a frequent reader that if Doug or Richard or so many others here were in need of a friendly hand or words of encouragement, countless members would be there shortly. Now, that is the sign of a very rich person.

Thank you for baring your soul Snacking Bear. Thank you for wanting to be near to those who are dear. To laugh, to cry, to be thankful for what we have and those we have.

Bless you!

Thank you for your feed-back and kind words. They are a great encouragement.

Richard, those comments you mentioned were what I perceived the picture of the mountaineer or outdoors-person to be. Not what I think that they are, or what I think they all must be.

I am, still, in love with the mountains. In the midst of exertion in the many tiered throne-room called the Sierra, something comes to life in me, that is not present anywhere else. I think that you are absolutely right. I think mountaineering would be far less-than-half the amazing experience it is if we didn't have to work hard and pour our very essence and being into it.

I wouldn't be who I am today without the mountains. I also have been able to use my ambitious alpine pursuits to inspire others to fight hard and live well.

Yet, I also think it would be a mistake to say that NO ONE climbs the mountains and engages in dangerous sport for the rush. I know many such individuals (self-admitted) who do such (Including one who is contemplating an illegal BASE jump from Half-Dome).

I simply choose to reject any such pursuit which is so selfish that it may cause me to lose my life. I believe life better suited to benefit others. Much in the way your expertise on mountaineering has benefited many in the form of inspiration, information, and practical technique (i.e. the famed Piotrowski Start, and the many great stories of you eating Pizza on the roof of California).

Enthralling. Enlightening. Inspiring. Couragous.

Thank you, Snacking Bear.

It takes a certain type of bravery to be willing to put yourself out there physically, then openly speak of how it affected you emotionally. Mountaineering is an amazing story of love and loss, of the effort and drive to attain whatever goal we set out to achieve, then the acceptance that we may never stand in that exact spot again in this life. It is a story of friends, of teachers, of family, both short-lived and long. It is the story of struggle to find ourselves and how we can fit into or leave a mark on this time, as you say, "[the need] to matter".



Like I said, courage. Courage to know who you are, your own reasons for being out there. Courage to be able to express it. Courage to own it.

Thank you, Snacking Bear, for an incredible story. See you in the heights.

-Laura

Laura, is Snacking Bear your new pen name?

I don't know what do you think?

Laura does a pretty good 6'6," age 21, Substitute Teacher...

There are those who probably think me egotistical enough to thank myself for a post.

(Dave's not one of them, though...)

Fantastic prose Snacking Bear.

So much to digest, so much to consider. You summed up the meaning of life succinctly:

"...light is not meant to shine, simply for shining’s sake, but to shed light in others darkness."

The end result is "brief and brilliant greatness".

Only brief by the measurement of human life but everlasting when measured by human existence.

I'm not certain that many on this board knows the story of the end of Guy Waterman's life. I grew up in Maine and knew of Guy and Laura who lived in the woods of Vermont. They hauled in a grand piano on the snow to the cabin while building it, but I digress.

Guy was ill in old age, I think it was Hodgkins disease that came back but I could be wrong. He left his cabin one morning and mailed a few things at the post office. He drove to Franconia Notch and climbed Mt. Lafayette and sat down. This was a particularly cold day with a forecast of below zero weather with high winds. Guy essentially did the equivilent of the old eskimo walking out on the ice so as not to be a burden on society. He never woke up.

One of the packages included a check to the local Mountain Rescue to reimburse them for the cost of retrieving his body.

I have no arguement on how his life ended on his terms.

Laura, if I could write like you, egotistical would be my middle name.

I didn't know the Waterman's, but encountered them a few times on my winter hikes. Had lunch with them once on the deck of Madison hut one cold winter day.

This is quite beautiful! Thank you for sharing this "rest of the story".

Rosie

Thanks for sharing your thoughts, Snacking Bear. A beautiful and thoughtful post to read on this gray, rainy day.

We all have our reasons and motivations for doing what we do. Because of the risk factor and the length of time it takes to climb a mountain, complete a backpack trip etc. hours, days, weeks, months, it can be a very selfish pursuit. Not too mention how addictive it may become. Finding the balance to maintain and nurture relationships with family and friends, I found was truly important to me. But I had to learn that lesson the hard way. For me I came to realize that "being there" as my signature quote states is my personal reason to climb. Not for numbers, not for stats but for the glorious feeling I have when in the backcountry or on a hard-earned mountain summit. Plus, sharing the experience with friends for me is the icing on the cake. I have hiked and summited solo, but I am happiest when I do it with friends.

I count myself very fortunate to then go home and feel blessed by the love of those I hold so dear. I have told my daughters that being with them, especially the precious moments when we are all under one roof is better than any mountain summit I could attain. So I calculate risk, keep safety in mind and hope that I will climb mountains as well as share the love of my family and friends for a long, long time. That is my balance.