Why are you climbing, dude?
– What am I doing here? – Inching my way up – what a stupid question! – No – what am I actually doing here,? Like in ‘what the hell’ am I doing here? Still a stupid question – like the classic ‘why do you climb’? Difference is that I have neither a clever remark like Mallory’s nor a soapy one. I don’t even have a moronic answer! – Because it is a stupid question! That’s why! – Then why am I asking it? Here I am, half way up a hundred and something meter wall, it’s pitch dark and I’m nothing than an insect, a firefly with the speck of light from my torch shining on the ice encrusted rock. I am tapping gingerly on anorexic seams of ice and I reach for blind spots – blind as in devoid of light and blind because of overhangs. I’m loving…