Mat Gilson

Joe Tasker, in his book Eiger Dreams, often tries to describe why he wants to do the climbs he writes about. Notably, he often fails. The greats have historically failed to come up with any justification for climbing big, dangerous mountains outside of, “they’re there.” When discussing he and Dick Renshaw’s plan to climb the north face of the Eiger, Tasker writes “I could not answer to myself why I should want to.” This inexplicable urge is compared to a compulsion, a drug, and a need. This burning need to climb seems innate to those who have made it their lifestyle. It is a niche lifestyle with a community of like-minded people who support one another and enable their growth. Is this sounding like anything to you?

While reading through Eiger dreams, I felt the plight of the climbers was parallel to that of the queer community. When Tasker writes “(I) wished that I did not have the compulsion to do what we were doing,” I could only think of the reluctance young gay, transgender, queer people often feel upon realizing that they cannot bury themselves, that they must confront their own reality. And when confronted with the possibility of not climbing Dunagiri, Tasker writes, “In front of myself I could never again maintain that I was caught up in this game unwillingly. I know now what I wanted to do. Willingly I would accept the hardship and fear, the discipline and the sacrifices, if only I could be given back the chance to climb that mountain.” This troubled journey to the acceptance of oneself is not required by the general public. It is, however, required of queer people. If that sentence did not say “climb that mountain” at the end, I could have convinced myself that this was about some completely different “otherness” that the author was contending with, and ultimately joyfully accepting.

Similarly, Tasker felt the weight of this desire in contrast with the laypeople of the world that he encountered: “To me these people seemed to have an enviable, carefree existence, wandering at will, with no burning ambitions eating away at their insides.” It is a strange veil that is lifted when you are at odds with the world, when confronted with the realization that other people really do not have to look inward and accept their difference. Even the physical appearance of Tasker and Renshaw attracted negative attention at the base of the Eiger amongst the skiing tourists: “There were hostile glances at the ice axes protruding from our bulging rucksacks. We did not fit the normal pattern.” I don’t need to talk about their bulging rucksacks to make the connection to the queer experience of being treated differently in public due to the way we look. Queer people do not fit the normal pattern.

The like-mindedness of the community of climbers is explained when Takser introduces us to Pete Boardman, writing “Pete in my eyes (was) the right person to ask about Changabang. It was not the record of achievements that I saw in him but the attitude of mind that I sensed. With some people it is not necessary to have climbed in their company to know that they are of the same inclination and share the same spirit as oneself.” 

This shared spirit represents safety in any number of subgroups who “do not fit the normal pattern.” Tasker explains that his parents never fully understood his desire to climb mountains. Doug Weathers, who nearly died in the ‘96 Everest incident, has never been able to explain to his wife why he loves climbing mountains, despite the extreme harm endured. In interviews she says that she has acceptance, not understanding. When it comes to queer people, we defy the common pattern in our lifestyle, in our aesthetics, in our language. When trying to explain the difficulty of being queer to my parents, they found that their experience in the full time RV community, of all things, was very similar. People who do not live full time on the road do not understand the logistics, the unique hazards, or the culture. People who make climbing their lifestyle have historically been labeled dirtbags by society, people who don’t work or have “respectable” jobs. Anyone can become othered due to the thing that they love, due to living the lifestyle that is required by their own “burning ambitions.” I think that there are more small groups who experience this otherness than we realize, and more places to find common experience than ever.