Expectation and Commitment

The morning's breakfast offering - Broad Fork TwinLast week I traveled to the Wasatch to join the irrepressible Andy Dorais for an attempt at the Wasatch Ultimate Ridge Link-up (WURL).  Since it had only been completed twice but attempted many times I knew we were in for something hard. On the other hand, knowing the fastest time was just shy of 18 hours, I figured we had as good a chance as any at not only completing it but, perhaps, even vying for the record. Ah, the arrogance of ignorance.

Andy does a nice job of summarizing the day here. Needless to say, we got spanked. But the experience got me thinking about the nature of these "competitive" mountain outings, the varying effects of partnership on the experience and the importance of expectation and commitment. All of these factors overlap at several different levels before and during such an effort. The weighting of each one's importance changes as the day goes on.

Expectation

Expectation impacts a team's performance on a number of levels. It starts with the decision to make an attempt. For the WURL, it had been done so we also expected to finish. Both Andy and I are experienced mountaineers with lots of long days and big miles between us. Knowing the stats of the traverse allowed us to place the WURL within the realm of our previous experiences and we deemed it attainable. I had never done that much vertical in a day on foot but had been on my feet longer on several occasions. I was nervous but confident.The Devil's Castle

One easily identifiable error was failing to define the exact route. This had far-reaching effects on our psych along the way. Both previous ascensionists loosely defined the route as "staying true to the ridge". We moved well through the first half of the traverse yet came across sections later that were tedious and slow which, ultimately, led us to question our path. These doubts had a demoralizing affect on us as we realized there would be no record setting that day.Approaching Hidden Peak, Snowbird Ski ResortIt's obviously vital to define the route exactly when attempting something like this since the impact of doubt pertaining to one's path can be devastating. I won't blame this aspect of our day for my decision to bail but I'm sure that if we were in the hunt for the record, being certain we were on route, bailing would have been difficult.

Along the way we spoke often of a more elegant route for the WURL. But our egos and our desire to measure ourselves against our peers forced us onto someone else's route. How silly. If we were the first we could have chosen the route. If we were less competitive, we could have eschewed the route of others and completed what we felt was a more elegant traverse of the ridge. But we didn't and we were left to wallow in the detritus of our decision.

The other expectation that is harder to define pertained to what it would take to finish. Andy simply expected to finish to matter what. He had been on the route or parts of the it several times. He had a good idea at what he was up against. He simply wanted to get it done, record or no. I, on the other hand, had no clue. I had no emotional attachment to the WURL, simply feeling it sounded like a good, challenging day in the hills. This mindset underprepared me for success.

Commitment

Whereas Andy was ready to "watch the sun rise" en route to finishing, subconsciously, I was only willing to continue until I stopped having fun - a loosely defined point in time, to be sure. Partners at odds on this crucial aspect of an outing are bound to face conflict as some point in the day. 

For Andy and me, that point came at Hidden Peak with the tram ride down a few steps away. This didn't help matters. I was having a bad patch energy-wise and we stopped to resupply our stores from a cooler Andy had stashed the day before. Looking at the route ahead I simply couldn't imagine finishing it given the pain in my knees and my waning motivation for endless boulder-hopping. I sat there sullen, being resentful of my partner's desire to press on and my lack of the same.

Ultimately, my allegiance to partnership forced me to turn my back on the easy way out and press on toward the Twins. Guilt, shame and disappointment were all visited in those moments. Shamefully, even a few passive-aggressive barbs ("I'm going to hate you after this") were thrown Andy's way as I searched for conviction. What a dick. I finally admitted as much and came to terms with my own issues, owning all of it and pressing on. My final thought was I hoped that I hadn't irrevocably damaged a solid partnership.

For Andy's part, he coaxed me from my ambivalence with the idea of pushing on to the Pfeifferhorn and reevaluating there. He had no idea how long it would take, however, and I cursed him for never having sussed out this part of the ridge line. Unknown or not, I committed onward and felt better for it. 

Four hours later the trip off of White Baldy did me in. My knees had had enough. The sun was low in the sky and the remainder of the ridge in front of us looked interminable. Lots left, perhaps 5-6 hours by our estimation and a 6,000 foot descent to the car in the dark. Snap. Tap out. I was done. A 21-hour day was not in the cards for me this time. 

It was still agonizing sitting there with Andy, me coming to grips with the reality of my decision. He was easy, though. He simply laughed it off, counting our day as a recon, determined to return with his burlier-than-me brother and show the WURL who's boss. You can't buy partners like him. 

The wind had died and the temperature was perfect for sitting on an alpine ridge with a great partner coming to terms with my own weaknesses. The lakes and meadows below us were bathed in the setting alpine sun. There was a sense of relief for both of us knowing that the endless decision making of a long day had finally ceased. We seemed at peace, at least for now. Lengthening shadows and a few opportunistic mosquitos finally prodded us downward to the road and a ride out.