Introduction

 

Call me a peak-bagger—a mountain climber who strives to ascend a set list of mountains.

 

Somewhat like a dog chasing a squirrel, I’ve always appreciated and been eager for adventures in nature as a welcomed escape, where I could discover myself. The solitude I experienced in nature offered me a nonjudgmental space: nature’s version of unconditional love, considerably more peaceful than my childhood with an abusive, alcoholic father. As an adult, I’ve concluded he’d struggled with PTSD from his US Navy WWII experiences in the Pacific Theater. However, while young, I fingered Dad and his rage, which terrified me, as the culprit for a number of my shortcomings. He hadn’t been the touchy-feely type, certainly shared little of his deeper self. Though, I accepted that he loved me, I’d had to settle for less than I wanted from him. I yearned not to experience fear and had been awed by and admired explorers, who seemed fearless by venturing into some unknown. As well, echoes of travel commentator Lowell Thomas’ unforgettable voice, coupled with reading James Thurber’s “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” in elementary school, fueled my desire to investigate my world, both the internal and external.

 

Kentucky, where I grew up, didn’t have serious mountains, though it blessed me as a teenager with a mother lode of limestone caves which could be explored. Innumerable caverns scattered across the countryside provided me, accompanied by cohorts, a diversion from my male-teen angst. Most caves necessitated scrambling over slippery surfaces while the smell of mold hung heavy in chilled, humid air. We’d crawl through passages filled with powdered dirt, the consistency of milled flour, or wallow through rust-brown mud, thick and gooey, which clumped on our clothing. We’d follow every passage as far as we could, while the subterranean labyrinths provided excellent opportunities for disorientation, and countless protrusions on which to rip and tear clothing, bang heads and scrape knees, all adding to the thrill of adventure and sense of danger.

 

Less advantaged economically, we’d don jackets and gloves, though not costly helmets nor other protective gear. We used whatever ropes we found handy, usually the nylon variety. By sheer luck, or whatever, we avoided serious mishaps. And in the process, I got hooked on the camaraderie, the adrenaline rush of discovery and physical challenge of navigating rock formations.

 

Once I’d come west as a young man, California mountains scratched those same itches. But there was a problem…climbing was more frightening. First, I had a general fear of heights: a fear likely instilled in me when I helped my father re-roof houses…and he confided that he experienced that same fear—acrophobia. Like it or not, I noticed my body’s reaction anytime I climbed onto a roof. My first impulse? Get to a safe place, which meant off the roof. But that wasn’t an option. With work to do, I had to tough it out. Second, I knew climbing was dangerous, even life-threatening. Besides my fearful childhood, the traumatic year I’d spent in Vietnam wove fear even further into my psyche.

 

Still my powerful urge for adventure was in direct conflict with my fearful self, as I was determined to pursue adventure, come what may. Though unwanted, yet familiar, my nagging inner voice of impending doom accompanied me everywhere. Intriguingly, along the way, I gave my fears, that most primal part of me, a name: “Primate.” Then, at least, I had a name for my fears, a focal point onto which I directed my efforts to subdue them.

 

However, the question remained: how was I to pursue a passion for adventure while battling Primate?

 

I set myself a number of climbing goals, the first of which was to climb California’s fourteeners—peaks over 14,000 feet. Additionally, I hoped to challenge myself even further with some iconic and storied peaks. However, with my ambitions tempered, I wanted nothing to do with dangling at a height—wall climbing. No, thank you! I knew in those cases that Primate would’ve gone ape shit. Instead, I opted to hike to mountain summits, and, only when necessary, clamber up their easiest sections.

 

Regardless, one inescapable truth remained: the dangers inherent in climbing were unavoidable…and, with Primate alongside, despite taking what I deemed safer routes, battling him turned out to be a challenge as daunting as any mountain.

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Book Blurbs

(What some have said about this memoir/outdoor adventure)

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“To someone who has led the rather sedentary life I have, the author’s peak-bagging is an extraordinary life of adventure, strength, and endurance. For me personally, I identify with Hogan’s fear-of-heights-self, Primate, cleverly written as a character in the story. Every time Primate freaks out about skirting some yawning chasm in a glacier or warns of other potentially fatal moves, of which there are many, I confess that my insides urge the author to listen to Primate. He doesn’t. Thankfully, he survived to tell the tale.

—Bee Bloeser, speaker, author of Vaccines & Bayonets: Fighting Smallpox in Africa amid Tribalism, Terror, and the Cold War

 

“Connard Hogan’s latest memoir A Journey of Courage and the Climb Within is much more than a mountain climbing adventure (although those who love stories about scaling heights will get plenty of spine-tingling mountaineering details). It is an exploration of one man’s reasons to climb, the challenges he must face both externally and internally to complete daunting goals. Those internal challenges are personified by his imaginary companion, Primate, who represents his primal fears: of heights, of danger, of taking risks. Countering those fears are the author’s strong motivations to challenge himself physically, to rise above a troubled childhood, and to prove himself worthy of explorers and adventurers he admired. You do not need to have climbed mountains yourself to enjoy this memoir; you just need to appreciate the heights we are all striving for.”

—Dale Griffiths Stamos, writer, filmmaker, manuscript consultant

 

“In A Journey of Courage and the Climb Within, author Connard Hogan’s inspiring new memoir, he sets out to conquer California’s highest peaks, only to discover that the true challenge lies within. Haunted by Primate, a metaphor for his deepest fears, Connard learns that bravery isn’t fearlessness—it’s moving forward despite being afraid. As his goals expand to the Seven Summits and beyond, injury and other setbacks force a deeper reckoning, leading to the ultimate realization that success isn’t found on the summit but rather in self-acceptance, resilience, and the courage to keep going, no matter the odds.”

—Elizabeth Ridley, coauthor with Pamela Jones of The Dirt Beneath Our Door: My Journey to Freedom After Escaping a Polygamous Mormon Cult

 

“Climbing wry, and ascending high—Connard Hogan had a serious fear of heights and chose an unlikely way to counter it; he took up mountain climbing. As he pushed himself to traverse crevasse-infested dangers, his never-quiet fear rode along in his mind. But Hogan’s sense of sarcasm lightened the weight of his fear. All over the US, and eventually around the world, he climbed with experienced friends, and hired guides, helpful Sherpa-types who fueled confidence. All while the decidedly non-Sherpa voice in his head fueled anxiety. Eventually, Hogan became an unlikely member of the California Fourteeners, a select group of elite climbers who’ve summited all fourteen of the state’s highest peaks. But not before staring into fatally deep gullies—both the granite kind and the mental variety. Hogan’s journey is an inspiration for any of us who are tired of hearing inner voices that drain our dreams. An uphill inspiration, no less.”

—Kate Schultz, writer-editor, screenwriter

 

“I am acrophobic. I get dizzy in balcony seats. I ride glass elevators with my eyes closed. I do not look down into the Grand Canyon. Connard Hogan’s new work on climbing gives me hope for a cure. Acrophobic himself, he has climbed the fourteen tallest mountains in California as well as Mt. Rainier and others. He pushed himself to achieve, while dealing with an inner voice shouting warnings of falling and words of fear. He survived. I loved the adventure and his personal thrill of achievement.”

—Marlo Faulkner, author of The Second Mrs. London

 

“After surviving a challenging childhood and the life-threatening dangers of the Vietnam War, Connard Hogan continues to push the envelope of physical and emotional self-discovery through mountaineering, where his adventures become a battleground against inner and outer fears on a journey of continued physical and mental confrontations.”

—Matthew J. Pallamary, author of Land Without Evil and Spirit Matters

 

“At first blush, Connard Hogan offers an adventurer’s account of his mountain climbing experiences. He finesses a delicate dance between the technical and emotional aspects of his adventures, but beyond that, he brilliantly shapes those journeys into lessons and metaphors for overcoming adversity. Chapter by chapter, Hogan and his alter ego, Primate—his inner voice of caution and fear—take the reader to the brink of choice: whether to move forward or retreat. To surrender to panic, or remain clear-headed. To live in fear, or grow from it. His use of Primate as his companion gives depth to the many choices he faces, turning each climb into a dialogue between courage and doubt, with Hogan pressing forward in spite of Primate’s protests. This book reminded me of the importance of childhood heroes, the power of self-determination, and the discovery that comes with always moving forward. Most of all, it shows how finding your own path is the surest way to conquer your own demons.”

—Nancy Klann-Moren, author of The Clock of Life, Like the Flies on the Patio, Love and Protest

 

“Grab your rope, crampons, helmet and backpack of gear (hopefully under sixty pounds) required to survive the adventures ahead with author, peak-bagging mountaineer Connard Hogan. You will push on with him page by page, often breathless, as he fulfills his obsession to be a fourteener, one who summits mountains around the world at 14,000-feet plus. Connard levels that his goal is to be one with his Kentucky childhood heroes who helped him survive. Held back by a fear of heights, he takes along an imaginary sidekick named Primate. Together they and other “dudes” encounter lava bubbles, crevasses, couloirs, whiteouts, glaciers, and debilitating freezes. As well, Hogan beholds the awe and solitude of nature for spiritual awakening. The book covers forty years of climbing, each summit with its own tale, the best when he signs his name in the book at the top to prove “I was here.” You may also feel the same.”

—Perie Longo, LMFT, poet and author of Baggage Claim

 

“There are times when we step into circles of energy. This book is one of those circles. It shows us what it’s like when we tell ourselves it’s time to act as if it is impossible to fail. A reminder that in spite of our fears and challenges, we most clearly understand ourselves and accept ourselves at those points in our lives when we meet our fears head on. Over and over in this book, chapter by chapter, Hogan, in spite of his own challenges, pushes forward as a way of clarifying his relationship with the pain and struggles he’s faced in his life: his sense of self, his early years in Kentucky, the war years, even his fear of heights, as he pursues this quest mountain by mountain and shows us something amazing—that the higher we push ourselves, the deeper we are able to go within ourselves.”

—Rebecca Robins, columnist, novelist, author of Small Potatoes and The French Laundry: A Critical Study

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