In The Shadow of the Climb

By Tessa Lippmann, May 4th, 2020

"I clearly indicated to Ronald that I had no motivation to be in this dangerous of a situation for such a long time and wanted to return to camp while it was still possible. I was quite emotional because this was the first time I had to say "no" to Ronald. I think I can no longer climb normally, feeling so insecure for so long about whether or not I will sink into a 50-meter deep crevasse. I think I can not psychologically handle it."

- From the journal of my brother, Jan Lippmann 2 days before he died in Greenland, May 2000 -

The climbing fetish started young. Our father was always encouraging us to climb on anything we could find, ignoring our mother's fear who was begging us to come down.

By the time my brother Jan and I were five and six years old, my parents asked my mother's sister to babysit us for a weekend. My mother gave my aunt a letter and told her not to open it until they left.

"Dear Irma, thank you for babysitting, I can really use a break for two days. Make sure you do not leave Jan and Tessa out of your eyesight for a second. My children are extremely adventurous and do dangerous things. They play with fire, jump off anything and they quickly climb on top of the garage via the rain gutter, onto the roof from the balcony, into trees using ropes, and have no fear of heights. Please DO NOT LOSE SIGHT OF THESE TWO!"

Over the years, it became increasingly more difficult for my mother to keep her children from developing an affinity with the mountains. Every room in our house had a bookcase full of mountaineering literature, geo maps, and Alpen Club magazines. Every free piece of wall was decorated with famous alpine north face ascents or 3-D relief maps of the various massifs. My father's love for the mountains was beyond a hobby. It was his passion.

At age six, my father was battling for his life with a bone marrow infection.

As his parents were saying their last goodbyes to him in the Juliana Children's hospital in The Hague (the Netherlands), a doctor came running in.

"I have a new medicine from Switzerland. Can we please try this on your child? It is called Penicillin."

Three weeks later in late 1945, my father magically recovered, but never regained full strength back in his body. On top of suffering a bad hip later in life, he was no longer able to adventure deep into the mountains as he wished.

He saw potential in his children and ended up living vicariously through us, his four healthy strong children.

His gift to his children, unfortunately, came at a huge cost.

My mother suffered from having no more control over her children. We were literally all over the place, as rambunctious little kids climbing on top of furniture, unbelayed at climbing walls as teenagers, and finally as young adults in the high Alps.

This was definitely not the only reason that made her mentally ill, but it certainly was a huge factor.

One day when my father asked for help and took her to an appointment.

"Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Lippmann, who of the two of you is the patient?" asked the psychiatrist.

"He is!"

"No, no, no, she is."

With the confusion about out who the patient was, one can only imagine that these four children developed even more of an urge to find solace in mountain adventures.

Ultimately her biggest fear became reality. She always saw it coming.

One child died in the mountains.