Born in India and looked after by a Tibetan nanny, it was only a matter of time before Ethan found his calling in high mountain landscapes. With climbing roots sewn between craggy outcrops in Thailand and granite monoliths in Yosemite, in recent years he has focused on alpinism, which has taken him to the Himalaya, Andes, Saint Elias, and Alaska Range, and kept him busy at home in the Canadian Rockies. His writing has been featured in alpine journals and magazines, and his experiences shared through presentations and slideshows, often with an emphasis on trying to connect powerful experiences in the vertical world to other aspects of the human condition. Ethan also connects to the landscapes that inspire him through his work researching environmental change as a geospatial data scientist.
Photo: Bea Dres
Climbing for me is about connecting with myself, with others, and with nature. Just how the natural world is fluid yet cyclical, I enjoy different types of climbing throughout the year. Each discipline has unique challenges and provides opportunities to interact with people and place in different ways.
Winter is a time to hone skills in ice and mixed climbing, but also take a step back and reflect on the year past. The mountains are quiet in winter. The snow falls softly, and our footsteps and skin tracks trace lines through the vast white expanse.
I love that ice climbing is ephemeral. Last winter, I spent many days in Storm Creek, one valley north of Stanley, developing new routes. Although I had visited Storm Creek many times in the past, around November an entire new wall of ice, interspersed with steep rock, formed where nothing had been climbed before. As I tiptoed up thin sections, and delicately swung into hanging daggers, the experience was all the more special because I knew that perhaps these routes would never form again, or at least would never be the same. In total I spent around a dozen days back there throughout the season, sharing hot chai with buddies and establishing five new climbs.
When the spring rolled around, two friends and I set off for the Karakoram mountains of Pakistan. Our objective was the unclimbed “Hidden Pillar” of Ultar Sar (7388m). We knew this would be a challenging undertaking with a small chance of success, as the route is 3000 meters tall from base to summit and involves highly technical climbing. Alpine climbing expeditions promise an extended solitude and singular focus that is difficult to come by in the digital era. At home, it can feel impossible to find deep focus amidst the inundation of information and the sense that I always have to be available. When I’m in the mountains for long periods of time, I’m able to slow down, reconnect to the minutiae around me, and find space for reading and writing.
On a climbing expedition, the climbing itself is only a small part of the effort. The whole process feels like a game of chess. You are constantly making decisions with the best available information, and each move adds up to influence the outcome. You have to embrace the unknown and remain calm when things go wrong, which will inevitably happen. Although we didn’t reach the summit on this trip, I consider the expedition a great success. This was my first time in Pakistan, and figuring out how to climb such a huge mountain safely requires patience. Rarely does one reach the summit on their first attempt. Our team is invested in the long game, and already excited to return next year, and use everything we learned to give us a better chance of achieving our goal. We were also lucky to be in Pakistan for cherry and mango season, and enjoyed some of the best fresh fruit I have ever tasted!
I arrived back in Canada in early July, which is the perfect time to visit the sport climbing crags around Canmore. After a long stint in the mountains, it’s such a treat to be able to test my physical and mental prowess on the steep limestone in my backyard. It is also a great way to reconnect with the community, and low-commitment when it’s time to get back into my work routine, conducting environmental research as a geospatial scientist.
This summer looks a little different, as I am undergoing shoulder surgery in the coming weeks, and looking at a six-to-nine-month recovery. I am grateful to my body for propelling me through so many meaningful experiences. I’m also acutely aware that I don’t always treat it as well as I should, and after many years battling a torn tendon it is time to take a step back and get it repaired. Although I’m going to miss the feeling of rock under my fingertips, and swinging my ice tools into frozen waterfalls, I’m looking forward to investing time and energy into other projects for the next while. And soon enough, I’ll be back out there!
Keep a look out for a feature article I wrote for Alpinist Magazine (Issue 87), in print this fall, and follow along @ethanberman1.
