Mountaineering from the couch: A purpose to existence is found, lost and found again

"I’ll do the dishes later. I’m just climbing Mt Cook.”

My partner looked at me oddly. I’m not a mountaineer. I was on the couch reading Dave Vass’ book Not Set In Stone. The passion and consequence of a mountain life.

The writing is so good that I felt I was there, climbing a sheer ice cliff on the chest of Aoraki. Five hours in, I could hear the crampons crunch into the ice, feel the sweat, see the swing of the ice axe and the drop below me thousands of metres onto rock. It was gripping.

And, on the final ridge to the summit, things got better. “The knife edge of ice I’m on, the highest land for thousands of kilometres in any direction, catches the last long glance of the setting sun, and becomes a glowing, jagged streak of blood crimson, hanging for a few moments between the dark blue of the world below and the world above. And I am there, floating in it.”

I had already missed other household chores while having the virtual experience of a nine-day caving expedition, complete with abseiling vast waterfalls in near darkness and going through a “squeeze” under water, getting the body through to the other side in time to surface and take a breath. I was panicking from the couch, although apparently the idea is to stay calm.

This book will be loved by both mountaineers and couch dwellers. I was struck by the sense of embodiment, the body as a vehicle to get up close to the vast natural world. A life in which “physicality has given purpose to your existence”.

There were near misses that a mother would rather not hear about and then the deaths of mountaineering friends. Dave was on the edge of my social circle in the 20 years I was a GP in Wānaka and the names came back to me. Danny, Gordy, Hip, Russell, Andy, Will, Al, Sarah’s sister, Anna’s brother. So many funerals of incredible people. It was so frequent that, when we heard report of a mountain accident, the first thing we asked was “Do we know them?”

The deaths conflicted Dave too, but the need to continue morphed into journeying in the Central Darrens, an untracked mass of granite mountains between the Milford Road and the Tasman Sea. It is an area seldom visited and has a mythical quality, with “dark alpine lakes and sheer walls with no names”.

Journeying, often solo, is a kind of exploration, setting off without a plan, experiencing what is, discovering new routes, climbing faces never climbed.

I am glad Dave was not alone when he broke his neck. I will leave the book to tell his story of partial tetraplegia, a finely told description of sudden incapacity and a must read for medical personnel.

In some strange twist of fate, I ended up being one of Dave’s carers for a short time in 2015 after I had myself fallen, into the abyss of burnout. I wasn’t keen to start back as a GP just yet and, for some stupid reason, I thought being a carer for a tetraplegic would be easier.

To be fair, Dave and I were both in our own shadowy corners having lost what went before but unable to see what might lie ahead. Still, we managed a few laughs. I was struck by his determination to get every possible function from his damaged body, his calmness, the methodical way he approached his new existence and his willingness to adventure beyond the constraints.

Last year I met Dave for lunch in downtown Wellington. No problem to drive himself (his wheelchair goes into the back of his van and clips in where the driver’s seat would be), find a park, navigate Lambton Quay and arrive smiling and brimming with new stories.

He had just finished his MA in creative writing at the International Institute of Modern Letters at Victoria University. He was off on new adventures, a testament to the human capacity for reinvention and our endless exploration in search of meaning.

Not Set In Stone is a fantastic read.

Lucy O’Hagan is a medical educator and specialist GP working in the Wellington region