For many climbing is a bug
An obsessive passion
Even a death wish
I ask, what makes us climb on?
Some are attracted by the garish gear
The clinking of the crabs
Fluorescent clinging lycras
Which flash against the crags.
For some it is a competitive sport
Graded technical play
Boasting to friends in the pub
Of routes climbed that day.
Maybe it is the satisfaction
Of taking on the lead
A challenge to the individual
To overcome fear and succeed.
For some it is the sense of freedom
A chance to unwind
An escape from the madding crowd
Leaving stress of work behind.
For many it is being in the mountains
All their awe and majesty
A desolate expanse
A wilderness of tranquillity.
For some the bleakness of a sea crag
The wind's fearsome power
Incessant pounding waves
How insignificant we are.
For others pausing at the belay
A rare moment of still
A chance to reflect on past times
And shared dreams, until ...
The next time.