After a while I found myself top roping more ambitious climbs I would once have saved for an onsight lead. I started to descend in the grades, touching bottom while following the airy Thin Slabs Direct, recognizing I would have to hit the gym to even keep in the game. I saw my weight creep up, even as I worked harder to stay fit than I had in my youth, and it is true the harder/heavier they come, the harder they fall. I try not to fall. At all. It is the opposite of the observation by my good friend Henry Blodget in our teens, that until we started falling, we were not going to figure out where our limits were, and improve upon that high water mark. He was right, and I did explore those horizons, and was lucky to suffer no serious injury.
Then something turned. My son Tobias, now 13, got interested in climbing, or at least the idea of going climbing and the camaraderie. He's no featherweight , so we have parity on that front. He's not game all the time, and requires much food to fuel his enthusiasm, but it's a great treat to get out there and focus on something other than the undeniably narcissistic cult of self climbing has embedded in its culture.
Tobias topropes Son of Easy O 5.8 Trapps Gunks
I've also been lucky to have friends who are great at mentoring Toby. As any parent knows, there is no easy way to teach your passions to your children: they are often much more resistant to pushing themselves in front of their parents than they are in front of others. It is incredible to work with other adults who can get over the friction of the family romance and get down to the business of staying alive while pursuing some of life's greatest joys.
When Toby was about 4, we went to Chamonix to visit his godmother. He had only skied on toy skis, and wept pitifully when we had him equipped with rental alpine gear. He looked poised to breakdown again as we left the van with my guide who just saw me down the Valle Blanche the day before. As we were walking across the parking lot the guide, Sylvain Ravanel, http://www.guidos.fr, said with Gallic non-challance, 'un moment.' He returned to the mini with Toby, they conferred for 30 seconds, they emerged, Toby hiked his skis on shoulder and strode across the parking lot as if a man on a mission.
When later we asked Sylvain what had transpired he said deadpan 'that is between me and Toby'. He also admitted that although a Olympic candidate on xc skis, he had been unable to teach his own 3, 6 and 9 year old boys to ski largely leaving it to others too. Toby proceeded to ski all morning until he ate a lunch the size of his torso and then skied another 3.5 hours in the afternoon, finishing on Sylvain's shoulders for the last run, and a full carry across the parking lot.
Sylvain and Toby at La Thuile, Italy, near Cormayeur/Mt. Blanc
Truly this is Toby's passion, and if it will convince another 13-year old that it's worth sweating in the skin track for house and sleeping in subzero temperatures, it's alright by me.
Toby showed similar, somewhat uncharacteristic grit when xc-skiing at my parent's place in upstate New York. He would shuffle around on said toy skis, and once after covering 2-3 miles I asked if he wanted real ones. The answer was a foregone conclusion. So now there's backcountry skiing.
