Why do we climb? Julie Urquhart knows.

Whether an elite alpinist or a novice mountaineer, you’ve probably been there: plodding up the unending snow slope, gasping for breath in the thin air, asking yourself the question - why am I doing this? Why do we keep putting ourselves through the pain? Is it simply “because they are there”, as that oft-quoted phrase by George Mallory would suggest? How right was he anyway? And do we still think in the same terms today? Some might say if you have to ask the question, then you won’t understand the answer.

However, my inquisitive mind is not satisfied with that, surely there has to be a more deep-rooted reason for the allure of high places? So as part of a study exploring the environmental attitudes of climbers, I also investigated their motivations for heading out into the hills. The results revealed diverse, powerful and sometimes spiritual reasons that are perhaps not so different to the early mountaineers of the late 1800s.

Before the Industrial Revolution mountains were considered fearful places. Many believed they were the abode of dragons, gods and monsters angered by human trespassers in their domain. Landscapes were appreciated for their agricultural worth; climbing to a desolate summit was considered pointless. Towns and villages were viewed as welcome oases in an unforgiving and wild landscape.

However, during the late 19th century mountains took on a new meaning. There was a need to escape from the dirty, congested cities, the summit became a symbol of freedom and a natural target for city dwellers who could afford it. As disposable income increased, escape to the wilds became an ever more important consideration, and early Victorian mountaineers spoke of the magnificence of mountains and their power to stir the spirit and refresh the mind.

Are the motivations of modern mountaineers so very different today? Certainly traveling to these places took much longer 100 years ago and needed massive commitment. It took Mallory months to travel to India by sea, and then weeks of walking before he even arrived at the Himalaya. Today travel from the UK to Kathmandu takes less than a day. However, although travel has changed dramatically, commitment seems to be just as deep - the study revealed a depth in the motivations that drive climbers and mountaineers, which surprised even me. Many climbers interviewed spoke of the positive effect that being in the natural environment has on their emotional well-being. One climber commented that: “climbing is the one thing that keeps me sane.” Others said that it makes them feel more “well-balanced” and provides a sense of “clarity”.

Joe Simpson puts it well in The Beckoning Silence, “There is something about mountains that moves the soul. They arouse a powerful sense of spiritual awareness and a notion of our own transient and fragile mortality and our insignificant place in the universe. They have about them an ethereal, evocative addiction that I find impossible to resist. They are an infuriating and fascinating contradiction. Climbing rarely makes sense but nearly always feels right.”

Moments such as watching a sunrise at high altitude on the edge of an immense glacier are priceless. The mountains at dawn are a magical place, the dark silhouettes of icy peaks slowly shrouded in the first glittering rays of a new day. It is a sight that no matter how many times you see it, cannot help but fi ll you with a sense of wonder. These moments make us feel as if we are away from everything, and through experiencing this beauty of nature there is a real sense of refreshment and renewal.

We get so bogged down with daily life that we all too soon forget about the world around us. In trying to explain why climbing provides that complete escape and rejuvenates the spirit, many of those interviewed spoke of the views, the expansiveness and the power of nature and how this puts everything into perspective. One climber commented: “You can’t help but be in awe when you look at something like the Alps.”

Perhaps too some of us have a deep-rooted need for a sense of struggle and accomplishment where the odds are real and the stakes are high. A primitive urge fulfilled by getting back to basic needs where fundamental elements such as food and shelter become the focus. And on return to civilisation and our everyday life we feel better able to cope with the pressures and problems that it entails. One interviewee exclaimed, “it makes me feel capable of anything.” Many expressed feelings of connection to the environment in which they climbed, and some intimated that this was on a spiritual level. Although such an experience may be transient and diffi cult to define, people expressed a strong sense of connecting with a power greater than themselves, although many stressed they are not actually religious. One climber even went on to say that “my church, if you like, is the outdoors”.

Climbers also talked about how the openness of the landscape and feeling of isolation instils a sense of insignificance - “I think you look down and you realise how insignificant you are to life. And to the whole processes of life you are irrelevant, they carry on whether you are here or not. It’s really important to remind yourself of that.” And the higher you go the more removed from the human world you are, once above the clouds the presence of civilisation no longer seems to intrude. There is a sense that in some way we, as humans, do not totally belong there, “we are intruders in a place where we shouldn’t be.”

For me, being in these environments and putting aside everyday life makes the experience complete, but only with the physical effort needed. The experience of reaching a summit would be greatly reduced if I were simply dropped there by helicopter. To fully appreciate the raw power of the environment, from the unpredictable weather to the gaping crevasses or huge rock falls, you just have to totally immerse yourself. “The good wouldn’t be good without the bad,” one climber noted. There are no shortcuts, without the sense of the unknown, the risks and the dangers, it simply wouldn’t have the same appeal.

Climbing is rare in its ability to instill humility and insignificance, yet it also restores the balance in life by putting everything into perspective. I return from the mountains refreshed, with a renewed sense of peace, and a unique and spiritual perception of the natural world and knowledge of my place in it. But how do you convey all this to a non-mountaineer? Well that I don’t know, and suggest that your only choice is to borrow Mallory’s words one more time - and you won’t be the last.

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