Bachar’s Death Raises Age-Old Questions

By Michael Pearlman, 7-09-09

On July 6, climbing legend John Bachar died while free-soloing a route near his home in Mammoth Lakes, Calif. He was 52 years old and is survived by a young son, Tyrus.

Bachar’s death is big news in the rock climbing universe, where his talent was universally acclaimed. Free-soloing is unique because adherents don’t use ropes or safety equipment that would protect them from a fall. A simple mistake by a free soloist that would normally be forgiven by a climbers’ use of protection is probably going to kill you. The pursuit requires the sharpest of focus since the margin for error is virtually nonexistent. Bachar had been free-soloing incredibly difficult routes since the early 1970s in Joshua Tree National Park and was considered one of the greatest climbers of his generation. News of his death shouldn’t have surprised the climbing community, but Bachar was so talented and beloved that his loss has been a crushing blow.

If you spend enough time in mountain communities, the harsh reality you learn quickly is no one is invincible, regardless of their talent or experience. Bachar joins a too-long list of mountain athletes who are now gone, victims of the simple fact that there was no margin of error in their chosen career. Mountain guide Doug Coombs was considered one of the best skiers in the world until the moment he slipped on ice and fell off a cliff while guiding in France in 2006. Gifted skier Shane McConkey, one of the pioneers of ski-BASE jumping, lost his life in a Ski-BASE accident in March. Like Bachar, both men left behind children who won’t grow up with their fathers at their sides.

It’s close to impossible to explain the draw of high-risk sports such as free-solo rock climbing, base jumping or ski mountaineering (which could be argued is a form of free soloing) to the general public. These aren’t sports that bring participants riches or mainstream renown, but tend to be spiritual pursuits fueled by a deeply personal internal drive. Bill Briggs, the first man to ski the Grand Teton, points out in the big-mountain skiing documentary “Steep” that people who desire risk and challenge are going to find it somewhere, somehow.

To rise to the level of Bachar, McConkey and Coombs, I’ve always thought one’s brain has to be wired differently. In these men, the “fear chip"–that part of your brain that counterbalances risk and reward– operates on a different plane. These men are able to quiet the inner voice that makes one resist scaling a vertical rock wall unprotected, or jumping off a cliff with skis on. They possess skill and focus that allows them to walk a fine line, at least for a while.

Yet even though each of these men had long ago made peace with the fact that they could die doing what they loved, it’s their loved ones whose hearts are broken when they make a mistake, or just get unlucky. This was heart-wrenchingly illustrated this week on the climbers’ forum, SuperTopo, when Bachar’s son shared his grief with the online community his father also frequented.

The raw pain shared by Tyrus Bachar left an ache in my heart, and forced to the surface the same questions I ask myself every time I hear about another death that comes from high-risk mountain pursuits. Why can’t these athletes scale back their activities out of consideration for their children? Why wouldn’t they more actively manage their risks (start using ropes, for example) after already proving what they are capable of? When is enough, enough?

I can’t claim to have a satisfactory answer to these questions, but I do recognize these athletes find it impossible to slow down or back off. I’ve personally experienced the rush of adrenaline that accompanies a pursuit that has a real risk of death. I’ve been overwhelmed by that burst energy, the narrowing of focus required and the sensation of being in the moment. But I’ve never required the adrenaline levels that Bachar, Coombs and McConkey needed to feel alive. Without that indescribable feeling flowing through them, they were already half dead.

The words of these three men offer more insight into their activities than I can muster.
“I’m going to climb for the rest of my life,” Bachar said with a smile in an interview recorded decades before his death. He also said, “Soloing is serious business because you can be seriously dead.”

McConkey, who was responsible for pushing the limits of what was possible in both skiing and BASE-jumping, said in 2006, “If everyone sat at the bottom of the mountain thinking of things the same way, how would we progress?”

Coombs, whose prowess and confidence served to inspire friends and clients alike, was completely aware of what drove him to live his life the way he did.
“When I go out I become more alive. It’s probably the endorphins that everyone talks about,” Coombs said in Steep. “And I guess the more you produce, the more you want. And so, I think I’ve been producing a lot for a long time, because I want ‘em all the time.”

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