Jack Tackle's climbing
feats reach far beyond the scope of mere mortals. After all,
in the former Portlander's own words, "a big part of alpine
climbing is a willingness to suffer." In town recently to
present a slide show documenting his 26 climbing trips to
Alaska, including nine previously untraveled routes, Tackle
fielded some of our questions about the downside of living
at the top of the world.
Willamette Week: More than once during a climb,
you've been trapped in a tent during a blizzard for up to
five days at a time. How do you handle having to share a
matter of square inches with another man for days on end?
Jack Tackle: I really emphasized the friendship and partnership
of climbing [during my talk], and that's what it is. You
end up having fairly honest, deep conversations about things.
But most of the time you're not saying that much. You're
sleeping, trying to maintain your psyche, not break the
rhythm. It helps to do what the British call festering--hibernating.
Especially at altitude, I'm pretty good at just shutting
down until it's time to rock and roll again. Some of it's
intellectual conversation, but mostly it's just doing nothing.
No reading or writing?
I read a lot in base camp and do diary kind of writing,
especially in places like Patagonia where the weather really
sucks. But you don't take books with you on any climb.
So what do you read in base camp?
I just read Jim Harrison's The Road Home, which
was so excellent I read it twice. Also, Perry's tales of
his adventures in Antarctica, Shackleton, stuff about Argentina,
Gabriel García Márquez...just nothing about
climbing. In Patagonia I was reading galleys of a friend's
climbing book, Extreme Alpinism by Mark Twight.
Do you have much trouble adjusting to civilization again
after being out climbing for weeks or months at a time?
It depends very much on the trip, how long you were gone,
what happened. It's not fair to say that it's easier after
a short trip, because it depends on what happens. The "re-entry
phase," as I call it, can be more of a challenge than climbing
sometimes. It's not food or sleeping conditions that are
hard, it's more career and relationship stuff. What's bad
about it is that you're coming back into this crazy world
of ours when you've been in a much saner place.
Some people would say just the opposite.
Being in Patagonia in Argentina, even in the major cities
like Buenos Aires where it's not Third World, it's not remote,
yet it feels much saner than here. There's a stronger appreciation
of life and a better sense of the things that are important.
Even compared to Europe--you see how crazy it is in this
country, the emphasis we place on money and cars and material
things. That part's tough, seeing a traffic jam, listening
to CNBC about the stock market. I mean, I just don't care.
The great thing about living in Bozeman is that it's more
insulated from all that.
You recently attended the memorial service of a fellow
Bozeman climber, Alex Lowe, who was killed in an avalanche
in the Himalayas. How does such a tragedy affect your outlook?
For those within the climbing community in Bozeman, none
of us needs to be reminded of the danger. It reinforces
your own awareness of your mortality, but it doesn't make
you want to quit climbing. It does make you want to be more
careful. I view it not just as a reminder but as a reason
to sharpen the edge so that your own vision of what you're
doing is sharper. So, hopefully, you'll benefit from the
loss....
Have you become more careful since Alex's death?
Well, I have started wearing my seatbelt.
You've been climbing since you were 19, and you're now
46 years old. Don't you ever just get sick and tired of
it?
There have been times when I've worked too much and not
climbed enough. I've never thought that I was going to quit,
but there have been times where I've climbed less in a relative
sense. There have been days where climbs have taken a lot
out of me physically, but I've never thought it was the
wrong decision. Climbing is a chosen path of lifestyle,
it's not a hobby.
What's the one thing you get from climbing that you
don't get from
anything else?
It gives me a stronger sense of being alive.
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Willamette Week | originally
published December 15,
1999
|
