I often think back to my time in high school science class, ignoring the lesson to read Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills from cover to cover. That title wasn’t just a name on a textbook; it was a philosophy. It promised a freedom that I have spent a lifetime chasing. Looking at the sport of mountaineering now, I worry we have lost that “Freedom of the Hills.” We have traded the spirit of adventure for the certainty of a schedule and the best possible chance to attain a goal.
I miss the days of being isolated with a group of friends or fellow adventurers—a team looking at the route with our own eyes, not a screen, relying on the knowledge we gained from hard-won experience. I miss the process of deciding what is best in the moment, or simply enjoying that cup of coffee at 1:00 AM before an alpine start, not knowing exactly what the day will bring. Back then, we didn’t have beta for every pitch downloaded to a device; we faced the challenges as they came, read between the lines of the two sentences of a route description.
We seem to have forgotten about the time it takes to really feel the mountains and become one with the routes & trail. In my youth, I would go into the mountains and live there for two to four weeks. It wasn’t a quick 24 hr. push in & out. It would take me and my companions ten full days on those long journeys until we finally felt like we belonged—until we found our space in the mountains. It takes that long to shed the skin of the city and stop reaching for the noise of civilization. Today, I see many posts and blogs about how fast someone climbed something: climb the peak, get back to the city, and post about it. They are missing the sense of connection to the mountain they strive to summit.
I want to feel the ground under my feet, sense the passing danger, and know the time of day—not from the internet, but from looking, seeing, and believing I belong there. That is why I travel to Nepal now. I go trekking and climbing in those far-off lands to gain that same feeling back, to satisfy the need to exist in the mountains. I want to operate not through the mountains, as obstacles to be crossed, but with them, as a partner in existence.
We have also lost touch with the pioneer spirit—the spirit of those who climbed before us, facing the unknown. We have forgotten how to hone our skills on failure. In the past, failing to reach a goal wasn’t a disaster; it was part of the education. We appreciated the desire and the will to come back and try again. And every time we returned; it was different journey of exploration and adventure. Even on the same peak, it was never the same climb. It was always a new experience, shaped by different companions, different weather, and different times of the year.
But we are missing the beauty of the hills, the wonder that can’t be quantified. We miss seeing how the snow lays on the peaks from season to season. I figured out once that, over my lifetime, I have spent thousands of nights sleeping on the ground—years of my life in the mountains. I wasn’t recording everything for a logbook; I was just being there to absorb the mountains, the hills, the place of being.
Don’t get me wrong; professional guiding has changed, and I am sure it is for the better professionally. We have developed into “Real Professionals” over the last 40 years, with guide logs, morning meetings, debriefs, and detailed risk assessments. These are all good things to keep guests safe and reduce the inherent risks of our work. We have the best, lightest equipment and the anticipation of problems. But are we somehow missing something of the spirit of why we climb?
Despite the noise and the rush of the modern world, I have come to realize that the spirit is not gone. It is just more difficult to include in our modern lives. It is still there to be discovered and included in our journeys. It feeds the heart and soul to connect with the mountains, to find that freedom I read about in science class all those years ago. It is waiting for us, if only we are willing to slow down, stay a little longer, and truly exist in the “Freedom of the Hills” once again.
Written by Timothy Keating
Founder of SWS Mountain Guides