Adventure / (Ad-‘vent-chur)

Noun

: an undertaking usually involving danger and unknown risks

Verb

: to expose to danger or loss,

: to venture upon

(Webster’s Dictionary)

From where does adventure arise? What initiates a person’s need for adventure? Is it some combination of amino acids within the genetic code that enables the spark of adventure to be activated?

I find myself drawn to people who lust after adventure. People who live with a fiery passion.

When I was young I read every word I could find written by Jack Kerouac. One quote has always stuck with me, “The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…”

I have always been a dreamer, though I have never been some great adventurer. There are so many things I have never done. So many lives I have never lived. However, there are some things I have done which I never expected, some inklings I have brought forth from the realms of dreamy mists and made into memories.

I can follow a path back to the specific moment in my life from where the impetus to adventure came.

Very soon after a divorce, I discovered I had bladder cancer, and very shortly after discovering I had cancer, I lost my job. We were coming into the recession and I had made it through many of my companies’ cuts in manpower, but not the last one.

There I was, divorced with a young daughter, out of work and afraid of death. I was despondent. I walked down towards Sanders Beach one afternoon and crumpled up on the curb. I was done.

Until that moment I had always dreamt of doing things like whitewater kayaking, skydiving and rock climbing, but fear had always held me back. As I sat on that curb in a daze I realized I could spend my entire life being afraid and I could die still afraid, or I could accept that I was afraid and not let that stop me. I had nothing to fear anymore.

I immersed myself in whitewater kayaking. I chased the river wherever and whenever I could. I found focus and identity. I found a validating path through the chaos. Then I found rock climbing. Then I found my wife. I was saved both by adventure and by a woman who herself yearned for adventure.

For me, that’s where adventure comes from. From seeing my death loom on the horizon and knowing that I had let my life up to that point be ruled by fear.

As for what adventure is?

I don’t think adventure has to be hucking yourself off a waterfall in a plastic boat, or climbing a thousand-foot rock face, or jumping in your truck and exploring somewhere you have never been, though that’s certainly been my strain of adventure.

Maybe adventure is simply chasing a dream despite your fears and discovering that the glow you experience from accomplishing your dream is much more powerful than the fear that tried to hold you back. And winning the battle against that fear becomes easier every time.

Two climbing buddies and I chased after some solid adventure last weekend.

From my house I watch every morning as the sun rises over a rock face to the east. It has intrigued me. I’ve parked on the road underneath it and studied the rock with the zoom on my camera, trying to envision climbing routes on it.

Two weekends ago I bushwhacked with Chris Doll up to the base of the rock, through thistles and poison oak, to peek at that rock closer. When we finally reached the rock face after we were inspired to find veins of granite running through chossy (climbers’ term for loose or brittle) limestone. We stared up from below and talked about bushwhacking to the top, so we could rappel down and get an even better look.

Last Saturday we left my house at 4 a.m. and drove to where we planned to begin the next bushwhack.

The day before had been upwards of 100 degrees and on a south facing rock face that sort of heat would be unbearable. An early start ensured we wouldn’t be overly miserable.

I’d convinced Chris Doll and Angus Meredith to join me on this mission to establish climbing routes on the limestone crag. We hiked up the gully through the poison oak and thistles, across ground so steep and loose that if you didn’t step lightly the ground would simply slide out beneath you.

When we reached the base of the rock we picked a route up a side gully and began ascending through loose limestone. When the rock became steep enough, we roped up and began climbing the way we knew how, placing protective gear in cracks in the rock. Chris lead the way and belayed us from above as Angus and I attempted to follow the route he had taken. As we climbed, the sun began to poke through the dense smoke from fires across the lake. We were treated to an orange sunrise.

We were aiming for a burnt tree which we had previously decided was the best location to set our rappel. Once the three of us stood on top, Chris kicked the tree a couple times to ensure it was still solid enough to hold our weight. The solid “thunk” eased our worries. We tied two 60-meter ropes together and dropped them off the edge. Unsure exactly how far down the rockface the ropes would reach, we made sure to tie knots at the end of each rope so that we didn’t rappel of the end. Chris went first, and we watched as he dropped off the edge.

Several minutes later Angus and I heard “OFF RAPPEL!” from below, and we looked at each other with a smile, glad that the ropes had reached the bottom of the rock face. None of us wanted to retrace our somewhat sketchy scramble up the gully.

I was the last to rappel and as I waited for Angus, I had a moment to myself at the top. I reflected on the fears I’ve had to dismiss in my life, and the many adventures I’ve had as a result.

I thought back to that moment sitting on the curb.

When I heard Angus yell “OFF RAPPEL!” I clipped myself into the rope and swung out around the tree into nothingness.

As I rappelled the almost 200 feet I scanned the rockface looking for potential holds and routes. I paused and looked out over the lake smothered in smoke.

After a few sketchy moments traversing across the base of the rock, the three of us stood and looked back up at the sections we had just descended. By now the sun was in its full incendiary brilliance and we quickly retreated to the truck below.

Another quote, and here I expose my total inner nerd.

From Frank Herbert, in Dune:

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”