Pretty much everyone who takes a serious liking to an activity has had a role model or a hero. As a youngster, I had three climbing influences that I can recall: Fred Nicole, Klem Loskot, and Johnny Dawes. Strong and accomplished fellows they were (and are), but what resonated most with me was their climbing aesthetic and philosophical approach as much as any specific feats on the rock. A new climber, full of undirected energy, I looked up to these three as masters of movement, exploring the outer reaches of a physical and mental experience. Their example, pieced together from an assortment of articles and videos and scraps of news gleaned from the still-young Internet, helped me construct my personal model of climbing’s meaning and value.
Like a wandering monk, Nicole found and climbed some of the hardest boulder problems in the world, never inviting fanfare or limelight. A stout, frizzy-haired Swiss, he was reserved in demeanor, fluid in style, and pensive in temperament—from my vantage, at least. He seemed different from many of the other top-flight climbers of his day, boasting huge forearms while maintaining a tiny ego. In an interview, Nicole said, “To discover new lines and new moves was always my motivation without thinking of pushing the limits or being a pioneer. Climbing for me goes with the nature and the lack of references is a gift more then a problem.”
Loskot, an Austrian, was the opposite of Nicole in style but not in philosophy. Known for explosiveness of movement as well as voice, Chris Schulte described Loskot’s signature vocalization in a recent profile in Rock and Ice: “The yell is a power-boosting Kiaa! that frees up the chi and fires us like burning arrows.” At the same time, Loskot outlined his own interests in more supple terms: “My climbing is a lot about harmony. Harmony makes me and is leading me to having the flow. It’s the same in life outside climbing. Feeling harmony is a great feeling to me and I watch out to feel so … Just let it flow and be as it is, and adapt.”
The Brit Johnny Dawes is a bit of a climbing philosopher as well, albeit of a different flavor. He was depicted in movies like The Stone Monkey and articles like “The Leaping Boy” (Climbing Magazine No. 164), as well as in his own essays, as overflowing with anarchic, punk rock spirit and a preternatural kinesthetic sense. In 1986, he became the first to climb what was then one of the boldest routes in the world: Indian Face, at Clogwyn Du’r Arddu, Wales. His essay on the ascent is as much a description of his inner landscape as of the climb: “At 70ft I felt OK. An automaton in a plastic bag, my brain floated out in space behind me. It had slim threads which blew in the wind but didn’t seem to be catching on anything; so I continued.” (In the nearly three decades since, Indian Face has been climbed seven times.)
Challenging movement remains for me the shortest path to the flow state—that fleeting alignment of body, mind, and the external world. Loskot put it nicely when he said in Dosage Vol. I, “Suddenly the ground goes to the side and there is just sky and you don’t feel your weight and you are alone in a big room, and you can do everything… . [Everyone] can have this, I guess. It’s not depending on how hard you climb—it’s more how close to your personal limit you are, or how deep you go into yourself.” Nicole, Loskot, and Dawes, each in their unique ways, seemed to express similar thoughts and feelings through their climbs and words and, at a time where I wasn’t clear about what drew me to climbing, they informed the way I saw the rock and myself as a climber.
As Dawes said in an interview with The Guardian, “You can feel sometimes that you’re doing something for real reasons. It comes right out of your heart and will take you somewhere to show you … who you are and what you really enjoy. And that kind of stuff has a really good roll on, I think, for other people afterwards.” It did for me, but I’m interested to know, what climbers have made impressions on you, and why?