CHAPTER 3
A NATURAL
EYES GLUED TO THE PAGE of a North Face catalog, Chris sensed something click. The climber in the photo was on a summit in Alaska. Below him a layer of wispy clouds hung as the sun set in golds and crimson. Making it to the top of Nordic Mountain in Wisconsin had been a thrill, but this . . . this seemed a thousand times more exciting.
Just enough to intrigue her, the image led Chris to a presentation at the Atlanta Climbing Club in early 1993. The speaker had recently returned from Argentina, where he’d climbed Aconcagua, the highest peak in the Western Hemisphere. His slides showed a gradual ascent over the course of roughly twenty-one days. In the final shots, he kneeled on top, smiling. At 22,837 feet and lit by a sky of liquid blue, the alpinist looked elated.
Chris was fascinated. The speaker talked about the hardships, altitude sickness, the climbers who’d failed and those who’d arrived unprepared. “I’ve only been at this a few years, but the physical challenge is addictive.” Dressed in jeans and a crew-neck T-shirt, he was appealing in a rugged sort of way. And older. He looked to be in his forties. The fact that he was talking about something she was increasingly fascinated by was a bonus.
“So after all this,” he said, “if you feel like climbing is something you might want to take a crack at, you should go big.” Ending the talk, the speaker added, “I’m heading to Bolivia in a few months. That’s what I’d consider challenging! If any of you are takers, come on up and chat. I’ll stick around for a while.”
Chris rose, waiting for the crowd around the climber to thin. When he seemed free, she eased forward, full of wonder as she approached. “I think I might be hooked,” she announced, shaking the speaker’s hand. Their eyes connected as he laughed at her opening line. His hair was streaked with gray, matching his moustache. The energy she felt from him during the presentation proved stronger up close. He seemed a mix of wise and dynamic, and she sensed immediately that they’d get along.
“I’m Christine Feld. I loved your presentation.”
“Keith Boskoff,” he said. “You’ve got a little experience in you for something like Bolivia?”
She hadn’t. “Not tons, but I pick things up pretty quickly. Just took one course at the Sporting Club at Windy Hill. Did a little climbing with a friend of mine in Michigan, too.”
“Michigan? You’re from the Midwest?”
“Wisconsin.”
“A cheesehead! A Wisconsin girl goes to Bolivia. I’m liking this image,” Keith said. “Got any gear after that course at Windy Hill?” He shifted his weight, crossing his arms as he sized up the short blond woman in front of him. Her build was solid. Not lithe or wiry like the women at the climbing gym he was used to seeing. She looked strong, capable of endurance—qualities he knew were important trekking miles at altitude.
“A backpack,” Chris said. “That’s it. But I just got a raise, so my credit card is ready to be put to use. You might look at me and think I’m not up for it, but I’ve got three older brothers so I can handle myself. I’m into all kinds of sports. Tennis, barefoot waterskiing, running, racquetball.”
Keith looked at the fiery woman before him. She seemed like the real deal. “Tell you what. Let’s get together, rope up, and I’ll give you a few more pointers.”
Chris and Keith began training together, a partnership that turned into romance with ease. He was seventeen years her senior and owned an architectural firm, a career that allowed flexibility and enough money to support his climbing habit. Chris committed to her new interest by purchasing gear and absorbing the knowledge she’d need for the sport she would grow to love. She was an uncomplicated girl from the Midwest. Yet at age twenty-six, she was a natural for the sport. Years as an engineer had sharpened her analytical skills. Patience had grown from struggling to keep up with her brothers and then leading teams of men at Lockheed. And she was resilient—a gift from her German-bred, pragmatic parents.
THE SPORT OF CLIMBING, SOME say, is misunderstood. What the average person might see as a sport for the selfish or those simply needing an adrenaline rush, climbers observe as a way of life. Athletes capable of sorting through technical challenges rise in the sport. Those at the top of their game are typically articulate and astute about the risks involved in scaling rock, ice, and high peaks. Their wish to survive and enjoy the thrills captured by being in nature generally outweighs their desire to walk close to death. They don’t have a death wish, but a wish to live in a way that few others understand. Elite athletes and those involved in extreme sports have a focus and drive that underlies their approach to each move.
“It’s a type of alive—not like a party, but like being at one with the world. It’s being in tune,” notes Eric Brymer, a professor of exercise and sport science at Manchester Metropolitan University in England. “These athletes may have more to tell us about what it means to be human than the rest of us.”
Mountaineer Conrad Anker, who has spoken frequently of the ethos of climbing, states, “If you’re not scared at least once a week, maybe once a month or once a year, you’re not living life. Some may think it’s a very frivolous pursuit, obviously we’re not curing cancer, we’re not even curing the common cold, but there’s this drive that humans have to explore and to see what’s over the horizon.” While climbing does indeed foster a connection with the world in a unique way, it’s hard to argue that the sport is not also one wrapped in danger. Entering the orbit of climbing means hearing refrains like these:
My family told me when I got into this that they’re worried they’ll lose me.
I was warned that I was going to lose people I loved.
If you can’t handle death, you shouldn’t be in the business of climbing.
Given that new methods and equipment are constantly being developed, breaking climbing down into all its varieties is a nearly impossible task. Rock and ice climbing are perhaps the most accessible and well-known forms. The advent of climbing gyms has allowed beginners to swiftly master new skills no matter what the topography or climate of their surroundings. Once adept at working with the necessary gear, climbers can incorporate what they’ve learned into mountaineering, which often includes both rock and ice climbing.
Chris dove in, training under Keith’s watchful eye. His vocal, highenergy temperament contrasted with her private, steady nature. As she did with all new interests, she wanted to excel and put silent pressure on herself. In Chris, Keith saw a tenacious partner who could push him as much as he pushed himself. Since losing his parents in a plane crash in his twenties, he’d felt alone in his life. But he felt close to Chris, who soon became the primary recipient of his love and attention. The pair fell in love over the next two months. “It’s the greatest love I’ve ever had,” Keith wrote in his journal. “I love every move she makes and everything she says.”
In turn, Chris fed off Keith’s knowledge, gobbling up every bit of information he provided on how to become a better climber. They spent weekends rock climbing in Georgia, North Carolina, and Tennessee. During the week they’d go to the climbing gym or strap on seventy-pound packs and run up Stone Mountain to gain the endurance needed to summit Tarija Peak in Bolivia. Visiting from Wisconsin, Joyce marveled at her daughter as she ran up and down the mountain four times in the time it took Joyce to hike it once.
Unaccustomed to having a climbing companion able to keep pace with him, Keith found his passion for the sport and Chris growing exponentially. Chris continued to push herself and often hiked to the limits of her ability to build endurance. Glancing behind his shoulder on one of their weekend training sessions, Keith noted the look of frustration on Chris’s face. He forged ahead as she tried to keep up, tripping over rocks as her legs felt heavy. He told a fourth, then fifth story about a climb