“It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.”
Ben Nevis via the Carn Mor Dearg Arête. A big day out. A hillwalkers’ route, the guidebook says. That is, to say, a hillwalkers’ route for those who like the exposure of an arête. What is an arête? It’s a sharp narrow ridge. If you get vertigo you’ll want to be on your hands and knees.
I remember thinking that the arête didn’t look so bad at the beginning… but then:
We cannot see very far - there’s a mist swirling around us, only allowing glimpses of what is to come. The first part is wide enough, I think. initially. We have donned crampons which, by definition, means I have had to put away my lovely long pair of walking poles and get out my single stumpy walking axe. I have now lost the confidence boost of the supportive poles. For me to use the ice axe as a walking stick on this ridge I need to bend over and alter my centre of gravity. This is not something I’m happy with in this airy place. I’m now feeling even more exposed due to the change of tools. The snow is deep and soft and powdery. It falls away down the slope with every tentative footstep and it feels like it wouldn’t take much for me to follow it down into oblivion. I don’t like it.
At this point we’re already a good way across the arête and the only options are to return via the terrifying section I’ve just completed or to keep going. So I keep going. Paula is behind me. I think initially she is unaware of my misgivings but I slow to a stop as the next step needs contemplating first. I become vocal and say that I no longer want to be here. She is gentle and encouraging. We keep edging along the terrifying ridge.
As we get near the end we have to climb down to the left and around a few boulders. This feels worse, more precarious, oblivion evermore certain with any wrong-footing. I’m very grateful that Matt has set up a short belay rope to give me confidence. The way in which I manage to virtually swim through the snow is very inelegant. But I scramble over the rock to reach a solid broad upward slope. Relief floods my senses.
I look up now and can see that the broad slope stretches off into the mist. I consult my altimeter watch. It reads 1000m. It then dawns on me that we still have around 400m to climb up this slope to get to the summit of Ben Nevis. And my heart sinks. I’ve just used up all my strength and energy in summoning every ounce of courage to complete the arête. And a fair bit of moaning and whingeing has used up further reserves. I sink to the floor and weep a little hoping that no-one can see this fact through my goggles or hear it above the wind. Except maybe Paula who is there being lovely. She suggests we have a drink and something to eat. Part of me wants to ignore her and get this over and done with now, but then I acknowledge that stopping for some energy in the form of flapjack might genuinely help.
About halfway up the steepness of the slope and the softness of the snow does nothing to support my feet and overwhelms me again. Once more it feels like it wouldn’t take much to fall and then to not stop. I cannot see where this slope ends thus making it seem even longer and further away than it probably is. I castigate myself - I’m International Mountain Leader. I take people on mountain hikes in the Alps. I should be able to do this without the drama that is going on inside my head.
I’m reflecting on that day again now. Last night I read about self-compassion and also about over-identification within difficult situations (Self Compassion by Dr Kristin Neff). I now know that is where I was - in a drama entirely within my own head. I needed to be able to step outside my thoughts at that point and to see what was scaring me was indeed only inside my head and not an actual reality. Thankfully Paula was there to keep me going. To bring me back to earth. To simply keep me pointing in the right direction. To give me time to gather my thoughts. To show me the compassion I was unable to bring to myself. To be gentle and kind.
In the end all that one can do in that situation is to put one foot in front of the other. To keep making progress toward the final goal - the summit. Of course we reached the summit that day and celebrated with photographs and more food and drink. And then began the long trudge back down to the car park via a thankfully much more straightforward route.
On further reflection, I now think that having such moments of self-doubt and being so scared make me a better Mountain Leader. One who can empathise when someone else has reached their panic zone. To calmly talk them through what is going on and what is needed to accomplish what is ahead. If I can help them see that the worse battle is the one inside their head and that each step will get them closer to their goal. If I can help to coach them on and to give them the wider perspective that they have lost. And if I can do this gently and kindly and supportively then I can guide them through. Together we can conquer ourselves and reach the summit.
