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You Are Not Your Job  Bill Ramsey

You Are Not Your Job  Bill Ramsey

After 18 years at Notre Dame, I’ve quit my job teaching philosophy and accepted a position at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas. Despite being happy working at Notre Dame, I was generally miserable living in South Bend, Indiana. Much of my misery stemmed from the absurd amount of driving required to go climbing. I would clock over 800 roundtrip miles to climb at Kentucky’s Red River Gorge, spending 14 hours behind the wheel each weekend. By contrast, in Las Vegas superb year-round limestone and sandstone climbing will never be more than 45 minutes away. It was a classic career versus lifestyle decision. As some of my Catholic friends advocate, I chose life.

Most people who know me understand the decision. Still, some have expressed surprise that I could make such a move. After all, it could be said that I was failing to properly advance my career by accepting a position at a less prestigious university. One friend’s e-mail put it this way:

“Who in their right mind would quit a job at ND to move to Vegas? It’s not like you’re going to continue climbing hard for many years to come... Are you really so obsessed with climbing that it’s more important than your career?”

The message ignored certain factors behind my decision, like what winters are like in northern Indiana—or what everything is like in northern Indiana. But the bottom line is, yes, I really am so obsessed with climbing that, in certain respects, it is more important than my career. The fulfillment I get from teaching and writing is enormous. However, I determined long ago that my life without climbing—without the places, people and experiences that climbing has introduced to me—would be unacceptably diminished. Whether I’m projecting a hard sport route, getting my ass kicked way off the deck on a wall, or taping bloody fingers for the 10th hour of a marathon session in the gym, climbing is a critical dimension of who I am, who I hang out with, and, now, where I live.

When people find out I’m a philosopher, they often ask me about the meaning of life. Bad question. Meaning is not of life but in life. It’s in the various endeavors we pursue and relationships we develop that, if we are lucky, prove to be deeply gratifying. The way we earn a living certainly can (and should) be a part of that. I’m happy to have found a career where it is. But it is only one part. That’s why professionals who could be earning more money and stature working in Chicago, Los Angeles or New York are moving to towns like Bend, Telluride, Fayetteville and even Las Vegas. What the hell are they thinking? They are thinking about the other parts—the parts with fresh powder, Class V whitewater or miles of pocketed limestone… the parts that enrich their lives in ways no career advancement ever could.

I make no apologies for choosing a path where my career occasionally comes second, just so I can climb hard. Something, by the way, that will continue for many years to come.

Bill Ramsey

Bill Ramsey, 47, has been climbing for more than 30 years and has climbed a dozen 5.14s since turning 40. He says he’s been saving the 5.15s for his next 30 years.

The Brotherhood  Chuck Fryberger

I While in the Black Hills of South Dakota, I’d heard rumors of sandstone bouldering across the state line near Newcastle, Wyoming. The buzz was that in this backwater of ranch lands and cattle farms, two brothers, Max and Duane, had developed a unique approach to bouldering involving “non-standard equipment and techniques.” Intrigued, I knew I needed to connect with these guys.

After a half hour of driving around lost outside of Newcastle, I pulled up next to several huge, freestanding blocks of yellow-grey sandstone scattered around like giant dice sunk into the earth. The place was seemingly vacant. Then, suddenly, shouts of encouragement came from around the far side of a very high boulder, audible over the hip-hop music coming from the open pickup truck.

“Come on, Max... this is it! Do it!”

I turned the corner and saw two guys about my age, decked out in football helmets and shoulder pads, hockey gloves, Carhartt pants and wrestling shoes… Max and Duane. As Duane screamed encouragement, “Top speed, man! Top speed!” Max sprinted toward the sloping slab face of a massive boulder; his thin wrestling shoes digging up bits of gravel with every powerful stride.

Max launched on to the slab in a surprisingly athletic bound; his feet and legs pumped against the rock as his hockey-gloved hands scratched to assist. (The quantity of skid marks on the slab clearly detailed that this was by no means their first attempt on the boulder.) By the time Max’s momentum started running out he was two-thirds of the way up the featureless 30-foot slab. His arms and legs desperately scraped for purchase on the smooth sandstone before gravity finally won and he plummeted into a monstrous 20-footer. Somehow, though, he managed to direct his fall onto an old mattress laying at the boulder’s base. The recoil from the impact was enough to bounce him off the mattress and into the dirt, panting for breath.

The show was not over. Duane walked out to where Max had begun his approach—then took several paces further back. Without warning, he careened hair-on-fire toward the boulder, leaping onto the slab at chest height. Just as Duane began to stall out at Max’s highpoint, his foot miraculously found a small edge and, with a clattering of pads and helmet, he fearlessly lunged toward the top—summit or plummet. Using every inch of his gloved hand, Duane snagged the top and manteled the proudest summit of his career.
As Duane scrambled off victoriously, Max saw me and I walked over. At that moment I could have introduced them to “proper” bouldering as I knew it, with advanced techniques, chalk, pads, magazines, V-grades, controversy, competition. As a seasoned boulderer of 13 years, I could have shown them how the sport was really supposed to be practiced.

But why? How were my methods of bouldering better than theirs? My style more pure? Or how were anyone’s for that matter? How could I have possibly approached Max and Duane and told them that despite all their passion and raw energy their version of bouldering was incorrect? “Is that really my purpose as a climber?” I thought. No, it definitely was not.

“Hey guys, I think I’m lost,” I said, not wanting to reveal myself as a climber. “Where is Newcastle?”

“Yeah, it’s over that hill a few miles… can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” I replied. As I started walking back toward my car, thoughts of an old bouldering project of mine drifted into my head… a very tall, very blank slab.

“Oh, and one more thing,” I said, turning around. “Where’d you get those gloves?”

Chuck Fryberger

No longer naive to the perks of running starts, Chuck Fryberger now commonly uses the technique if he gets shut down on a boulder problem—though it has gotten him banned from at least three climbing gyms. An accomplished filmmaker, Fryberger is a founding contributor of Momentum Video Magazine.

HERA vs. Ovarian Cancer  Stephanie Forte

In The bar was out of alcohol. Lean, ripped climber bodies saturated in sweat packed the dance floor. It was a climbing world phenomenon—every guy had at least two girls vying for his attention. Their hips gyrated and arms flew wildly to the beat of the music, perhaps giving thanks to the gods for the abundance.

The praise was fitting since the night was a celebration of Hera, the Greek goddess and protector of women, that inspired the birth, in 2002, of the HERA Women’s Cancer Foundation, a non-profit organization that raises funds for ovarian cancer research and awareness. As the frenetic crowd of nearly 300 moved to the evening’s salsa music, a question loomed: do these trad, sport and pad-people climbers fully understand the positive and far-reaching impact their fundraising efforts have?

As a non-profit organization, HERA works to accomplish three goals: to raise awareness of ovarian cancer, to fund research, and to provide grants for local ovarian cancer groups. The Climb4Life events are HERA’s main fundraising vehicle, and from those funds, seed grants are awarded to researchers. Currently held in cities including Salt Lake City, Washington D.C., and Boulder, past Climb4Life events have also hit Las Vegas, Bend, Seattle, San Diego, Los Angeles and Minneapolis. In its inaugural year of 2002, the Climb4Life attracted 65 participants and raised $37,000. In 2007, more than 275 climbers and volunteers helped to raise $105,000 at the Salt Lake City event—at least 85% of which has gone to the cause.

Since the rate of ovarian cancer deaths has increased nearly 18 percent in the last three years (it’s currently the fourth leading cause of cancer death among women), it’s clear that the science community needs some fresh approaches to care and prevention. Yet for scientists to find a reliable early detection method and better treatment methods, they need money… a lot of money.

Enter the HERA OSB1 Grant, named for the outside-the-box thinking it supports and funded by the money raised during Climb4Life events. Compared to privately funded grants, OSB1 Grants of $10,000 to $25,000 are modest but they’re making a significant impact by allowing scientists with progressive ideas at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center at the University of Texas and Johns Hopkins Medical Institutions to produce the preliminary research needed to strive toward obtaining multi-year, multi-million dollar grants from the National Cancer Institute in Bethesda, Maryland. Having supported 11 such scientific research projects, in addition to regional and local awareness campaigns, grants and support, HERA has become a grassroots catalyst to finding a solution for ovarian cancer.

As the last of the previous evening’s wine bottles were loaded into recycle bins, promises were made as emails and cell numbers changed hands. Beyond the party, the romances and the thousands of dollars of gear that was given away, there was something larger though: the purpose. Unlike at crag clean-ups and save-our-local-climbing-area events, the climbers at Climb4Life are supporting a wholly non-climbing related matter: ovarian cancer. Yet they are also supporting the very essence of the sport: people. As the fundraising successes of Climb4Life events continue to grow, it is inspiring to see that in this so-called selfish pursuit of rock climbing, HERA’s mission has helped some to discover a greater purpose in climbing.

Stephanie Forte

Stephanie Forte was the 2005 recipient of the HERA Power of One Award, and is also a founding board member of the HERA Women’s Cancer Foundation. For more information and to register for the next Climb4Life, visit www.herafoundation.org.