I’ve seen the phenomenon not only in climbers but in sea dogs ( those people who row around the world, race skulls, that sort of thing. ) I have come to have an inordinate number of friends who climb things, and do other challenging tasks with their bodies “because the stuff is there, ” to be done.

The father of one of my closest friends was the journalist and climber assigned to the first USA Everest Expedition summit team. He wrote in the mountaineering genre, both YA and adult, including having been the ghostwriter of the autobiography of the man who took Sir Edmund Hillary to the top of the world—Tenzing Norga (Man on Everest. ). I still have a late 1940’s LIFE MAGAZINE whose cover photo depicts my friends’ dad demonstrating ice climbing on the side of Mount Washington in Maine. It was a gift to me 50 years later. The article which accompanies that LIFE cover is “Why Men Climb Mountains.” ( The first women had not hit the high summits at the time of its writing.)

I did learn to climb as a teenybopper but it was a desensitizing exercise. I was (and still am) terrified of heights. With that handicap, I have been on the lookout all my life for friends I would trust to belay me. Colt would be among those. They generally come in the form of those who are not afraid of doing insane things in the wilds with their bodies. Yet, they tend to be attracted to me for my sensible cowardice while I to them for their unabashed bravery and the probability they could save me in a pinch. The protagonist of the story has a particular relationship with Yosemite, where I learned to climb at Indian Caves, and sping springs in Foresta, and was once found a few strokes from the Silver Apron being chased by a bear toward Vernal Falls — good times.

I’ve always liked Henri Colt’s writing. This piece, in particular, reminds me of so many men—especially Veterans from WWII forward—who I met practicing medicine, and among family and friends—whose internal stories are now rarely shared. Have a look at Henri Colt’s Never A Coward.