Zen and the Art of Mountain Climbing

Although once a hip and trendy book, few people today seem to read and connect with “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” by Robert M. Pirsig. First published in 1974, this philosophical novel celebrates its 50th birthday this year. My attempts at forming an anniversary book club within my family have been unsuccessful; only I have done the readings.

I read this book at the crag in Indian Creek, suffering through a sandstorm. Every time I come to the Creek I promise I’ll read at the crag – this past trip was the first time I’ve ever done so. Conversation in Indian Creek, when not being made impossible by howling wind blowing sand between your molars and into your cavities, consists of general ego stroking: “Oh you did that crack? Have you tried this crack? Someday I want to try this other crack!” And so on.

It’s tedious, and unavoidable.

In that context, this excerpt felt appropriate. What do you think?

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Rock Art

I’ve just emerged from a seasonal sabbatical in the desert. As usual, we did a lot of rock climbing. The climbing out there is always good – but we won’t linger on that here.

One of the more fascinating aspects of the deserts of the American southwest is the cultural heritage. Artifacts and rock art from a number of Native American cultures are visible here. These things aren’t in a museum or on a heavily-trafficked tourist trail: for the most part, they’re just sitting in the desert, scratched on the side of soft sandstone walls or sitting deep within remote canyons.

There is a special feeling I get when I walk up to these sites. I am not a religious person, but from the first time I saw ancient petroglyphs scrawled on a wall, I felt a spiritual presence. There is no other word for it, and it’s a feeling I still get at many of these sites.

Primitive pictures carved into dark sandstone. Recoghnizeable figures include a person, a Kokopelli, handprints, and depictions of antelope or similar animals. There are also abstract shapes, including a triangle and a snake-like squiggle.

Andrew Gulliford, in his book “Bears Ears: Landscape of Refuge and Resistance”, writes:

“In Navajo belief, a dead person’s spirit may continue to reside where that person had lived and died. Their chindi or spirit may be lonely and seek to haunt or terrorize visitors.”

“Bears Ears: Landscape of Refuge and Resistance”, 2022, Andrew Gulliford, page 103

I don’t feel a malevolence, but I do feel a presence. I encourage you to visit yourself — maybe you will feel it too.

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Book Reviews: Two Epics

I write you from the Moab public library – a remarkably good library for such a small town. Town is for resupply: ice cream, burgers, wifi. The rest of the Fall season we spend in the desert — the true desert: long drives, hot days, cold nights, far from service. A good book is essential. A long and involved one, ideally.

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Shaqsha, SE Face

Shaqsha is an obscure mountain for Peru, despite the fact that it graces the cover of Brad Johnson’s “Classic Climbs of the Cordillera Blanca”, the most popular guidebook for the area.

A great book – exceedingly hard to find these days.

Shaqsha was not on my radar at all until a chance meeting with Alejandro Urrutia and Rodrigo Ramos, a pair of Mexican alpinists. They were sitting in Cafe Andino, a western-style coffee shop in Huaraz popular with climbers, making a topo of a traverse of Chopicalqui they had just completed, from the SE ridge to the SW ridge.

They had been sick half their trip, they said, but had also managed to sneak in Shaqsha, via the left side of the ridge. A good climb, easy. “The right side also looked good,” they said, showing a photo of their tent pitched on the glacier in front of the face.

I wanted that picture. And off we went.

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