|
Dick Dorworth Dick Dorworth is having a sensational time up on the rock. Flashing the climbing route bottom to top, he dances about, waltzing to his own beat, authoring the vertical puzzle into a ballet. He moves with an exuberant grace that makes the route's difficulty look more fun than hairball. Buoyed by a wand of self-generated delight, his moves clicking rat-a-tat, he has time between breaths to explain to listeners his take on everything from Eastern Mysticism to chaos theories, the fissioning of Joyce's literature, and the mantras of Bob Dylan, his inner-lit metaphysical rap rolling toward the inexorable conclusion that, well, everything really is Everything. "It's all about expanding horizons," Dorworth says. "Not everyone wants to expand their horizons, curiosity withstanding. Most people are satisfied by material comfort, not spirituality. You need to concentrate on tests that make you grow and learn, to see what's inside yourself. To me, we're here on earth to see who we are, not show how big a house we can build." Dorworth owns no house, nor little else. By choice, most of his possessions fit into his station wagon: computer, clothes, skis and climbing gear. It's a big part of who he is. As he admits, "I've paid a price for my lifestyle. The search has been in the moment, not down the road. Wealth in an individual comes in many different forms, and I don't think any of us, from George Bush to a rice farmer, are that different." Adventure / explorers derive their greatness commonly from two things. Sleep deprivation, hallucinations, stark loneliness, and the looming presence of death seem more acceptable to them than to the rest of us. And they invariably show their admirers a new way of looking for meaning along the lonely margins of the world. For the whole of his adult life, Dorworth, looking more fortyish than sixtyish, has been returning from campaigns on remote mountains that at times exacted the kind of toll equaled only by warfare. In 1980, he, along with expedition partners Galen Rowell and Ned Gillette, became the only Americans in 40 years to travel into China. Their quest was the first ski descent of 24,388 foot Muztagh Ata. Instead, one of America's most famed skier adventurers wound up in a solo descent off the mountain peak suffering with cerebral edema. High-altitude cerebral edema is a spontaneous, often fatal filling of the brain cavity with fluid. Dorworth had been stricken at 20,000 feet. A sure treatment is rapid descent. Dorworth's case was advancing quickly. The rarefied altitude had made him become so weak and uncoordinated that it took him half an hour to tie his shoes. Leaving his partners to continue their summit bid, Dorworth lurched downward, somehow staggering below into basecamp at 15,000 feet. After some rest, he began recovering, at least to gather enough strength to hitch hike to the nearest rural hospital 100 miles away. What were you thinking? he was later asked. "Every man has his mountain. I'm still carving mine," he replied. Dorworth grew up on Lake Tahoe beneath the peaks of the Northern Sierra Nevada and began ski racing in 1949. Within a year he became Far West Champion and acclaimed as one of the top racers in America. In 1962 he was chosen by National Team coach Bob Beattie to be on the first-ever U.S. National Development Ski Team. The following year, during a break in training with teammates in Portillo, Chile, he became one of the first to put pure speed and ego on the map by cracking the existing world speed skiing record in 106.8 miles per hour. "My soul changed through speed skiing. It was a rite of passage for me," explains Dick. "In Chile I learned that there comes a point in your life when you either push through or back off. I learned that the price of backing off was more than I was willing to pay. It can haunt you." Haunt you to Hell. Tucking a speed ski course is comparable to dropping a dime into a pay telephone. There are risks and Dorworth seldom talks of fellow speed skier Walter Mussner. The young Austrian took a fall during a speed skiing competition going over 100mph. Tumbling head over skis, he left sixteen holes in the snow, the crash ripping himself open from mouth to pelvis. He came to a stop at the feet of Dorworth. Mussner was dead and Dorworth never raced again. It was a watershed moment to say the least, but it didn't stop him from turning to further adventuring. Free to roam, whether climbing Fitzroy in South America, mountaineering in Tibet, or just trying to find a clean well-lighted place, Dorworth became an unconventional spirit with the articulation of an aristocrat. His hair grew; his escapades grew more. He did a beautiful new route on Half-Dome with Royal Robbins.He was part of the first American expedition to the north side of Everest. He climbed Denali, but it was his self-possession, more than his exploits, that made him, by the early 1970's, into an iconic warrior to the skiing's hip set and chide of a non-accepting establishment. Nourished by the political and social climate of the 1960's and sensitive to the stirring of reeds in a wind, the edge of the mystery eating at his good looks, desparate and a beggar to the underground history of the world, Dorworth's wanderings took on deeper dimensions. His essays and photography graced national outdoor publications and embodied an ethic whose depth and power gave them a place among the most evocative of their era. He wasn't afraid to make a stand on salty issues that disturbed him. In 1972 he quit as a coach of the U.S Ski Team over what he perceived to be too much authoritarian control of the athletes' lives. Twenty years later his stubbornness to conform cost him a safe haven position as Director of Skiing at Aspen. And he lost the capacity for a family life. Four wives each left him because of his incessant wanderings. He fathered five sons with subsequent five women. His drinking and nefarious behavior became for a time as well-known as his magnificent moments on mountain peaks. "Dorworth has always been a bit of an anarchist within the ski establishment. One always wondered who was his next target," explains ski photographer and good friend Tom Lippert. "He might have been anti-establishment, but he was a good observer. Amazingly, he's never compromised his beliefs." It was the Buddhist faith that Dorworth confides sobered him up and saved him from other excesses. Since seeking its path in the 1980s he admits the faith has fundamentally changed him and become a key element to his vision and output. Quoting from poet Gary Snyder, Dorworth recites: "Don't be a mountaineer
In the end, as Dorworth happily sums it up, we are all engaged in the same business of carving out our own mountains. It's not the temporal glory of the mountain peaks that adventure seeks. It's the witnessing before an inner audience that the real conquest is all about, and which makes the world a better place. "In some ways, it's about karma," says Dorworth. "Every day we may lead a life that we think is monotonous, but every little decision we make has certain effects. Whatever you're doing you're always in the moment so always dig deeper, always try to do better. I'm trying to be a better person everyday. Honesty needs a lot of maintenance. It's enough in itself." |
|
| |
|