Risk v reward: why we should push boundaries

This year was a big one for accidents in the mountains. There was the Jo Morgan event in which two experienced climbers died in an avalanche, but Morgan survived; the Australian cop dying in another avalanche in Aoraki/Mt Cook National Park; and the ‘‘Bigger than Ben-Hur’’ rescue of a solo climber on Mt Aspiring due to deteriorating weather conditions. There were others, of course. Business as usual in the mountains.

The question is often asked: why do they do it? Why do climbers head up into the skies when there are clearly so many things that could go wrong? Why do people take these incredible risks when there are many other types of adventures that have fewer, and less fatal, dangers involved?

I’ve only used ski lifts and helicopters to take me up mountains – not my own legs – so I’ve asked this question too. When I lived in Aoraki/Mt Cook National Park, I spent a lot of time with people who climbed, including my partner.

The question of Why Go? is mostly asked by people like us, who have less to do with the mountains than climbers do. Few climbers, in fact, even on their third beer after an epic journey, raise the matter themselves. ‘‘If you have to ask the question,’’ they say, ‘‘then you may never understand.’’ Maybe it’s similar to birds questioning flight.

For the non-climbers of the world like me, here’s what mountain climbers usually say.

First, getting up the mountain is humbling and magical. The grit of the climb is rewarded by a euphoria, accentuated by the expansive and everchanging views. They talk about the exhilaration and freedom of carrying everything you need on your back and the camaraderie of the group in all the stages of planning, preparing and embarking on the climb. Most climbers thrive in the knowledge of facing vast physical and mental challenges, of confronting their adversities and, hopefully, overcoming them. They love adapting to the changing needs of the terrain, the weather, and the group. Also, the riskiness is part of the fun.

The risks that we hear about in the mountains can be managed. The way mountaineers talk about risks is to identify a potential hazard (ie, an avalanche), and then manage their exposure and vulnerability to it. For example, climbers should make good route choices to avoid possible rockfalls and, to decrease vulnerability, they should be wellprepared with protective equipment if something goes wrong. Ideally, good decisions are made at every stage of the climb. If not, accidents happen.

So, the benefits of climbing outweigh the risks, when the hazards are well managed. It is riskier, they argue, for someone to get into a car and drive than it is to get into their crampons and climb, if you’ve managed the risks. With New Zealand’s road crash statistics, they could be right.

Another theme that can emerge in these conversations has to do with an increasing effort to ‘‘make safe’’ areas of adventure under the banner of health and safety regulations.

Back in Aoraki/Mt Cook, an oft-discussed question was to what extent should the Department of Conservation rope off a trail with a steep drop, for example, or post hazard signs in an area of tranquil, unblemished beauty, polluting nature’s attraction with a squared, unnaturally coloured sign. How far do you go, we asked, at protecting people from the hazards of nature when much of the attraction is, after all, the thrill of taking the risk itself.

It’s not just national parks that are ruminating about this question; kindies, primary schools and city councils are questioning it too. Knowing the importance of free play and boundary-pushing in the development of young minds and bodies, Kiwis are asking for less bubble-wrap and more opportunities for kids to assess risk and manage it, even if that means the odd bruise or broken wrist.

Back to those climbers. Arming oneself with the skills and resources to manage the risks of the mountain is a huge and enjoyable part of their journey. Instead of avoiding these risks, they learn to climb alongside them. I try to apply a bit of a climbers’ approach to my own life, where it’s not alpine conditions that I face, but presentations or pitches, or getting my butt into the freezing sea for a swim. I try to focus on the expansive views and new perspectives that overcoming the challenge could bring. I make sure I’ve got some good protective equipment; humour, a friend, or a well-prepared speech, for example.

And if I get myself in trouble due to conditions outside my control, I know I can always reach into my backpack and pull some tricks out. In the case of taking a cold plunge I – like the climbers – organise satisfying rewards. Hot toddies go down well on both beaches and in mountain huts.

It’s tempting to let the mountain tragedies of 2018 put people off many of the adventures and challenges that New Zealand – or life – has to offer. But if we keep making good decisions about the hazards around us, tool up, and prepare well, the experience, climbers say, is worth the risk.