Fall of the Phantom Lord - Andrew Todhunter

Out of print, but usually available used from Amazon.com

Buy it if: You wore out copies of Rock & Ice in the mid-90s or have at any point owned fluorescent climbing gear.

Don’t buy it if: You’re looking for a complete recounting of Dan Osman’s life and surreal death. This book does not include much of what you’d expect.

Climbing, even at its most centric, has always maintained fringe status. But during the MTV/X-Games/Cliffhanger commercial zenith of the sport, a few figures did manage to consistently turn up as good copy for climbing and mainstream media alike. Dan Osman was one of the few climbers who managed to maintain a distant and enigmatic mystique, even when it seemed the vertical sports world would finally going to cross over into the public consciousness full time.

Fall of the Phantom Lord is the result of the author’s multi-year stint spent occasionally shadowing Osman, a very good (though perhaps not truly great) rock and ice climber primarily known for taking ever longer falls on dynamic climbing rope. ‘Controlled free falling’ as a sport. Sadly, his bold routes and devotion to site access will forever be overshadowed by his accidental death, but these are the terms negotiated by his chosen activity. While it may be unfortunate, it can hardly be considered unexpected. What is unexpected is this part of the story’s absence. No mention is made of his death, despite the book’s having been published after his untimely demise.

Part of me wants to consider this an artistic and moral position. After all, Osman often commented that he did not possess a death wish but instead a ‘live wish.’ In this respect, a focus on the living trumps the despair of death. But to completely ignore that his life ended while he pursued a sport of his own invention seems misleading at best, irresponsible at worst. A simple epilogue would provide the casual reader with some context and conclusions, but the book is sorely lacking in this regard.

Unfortunately, it also lacks meat where it needs it most. Interspersed with Osman’s story are vignettes from the author’s own outdoor life. While they do provide context and perhaps allow for a more intimate first-person view of some extreme activities, ultimately they only serve to disguise that there was not quite enough time spent with Osman and his compatriots to form a full narrative. Obviously, the bio of an extreme sport’s shaman/outsider doesn’t bring the type of cash return that might allow for a more thorough exploration of a subject, but anyone who picks up a copy of this one should go into it being aware that it’s not for those who would seek a full telling, but rather a freelance author’s attempt to offer an observational slice of the climber's life. It’s admirable, but incomplete.

Ultimately, Osman’s spirit flits in and out of the pages, but I suspect most readers will end up replacing old questions with new ones and wondering if their fallen hero can be any better understood for having read this book. While a new perspective should be always welcome by those who seek understanding, this is the equivalent of walking down the beach for a new look at the horizon. The view may shift slightly, but the distance to be covered remains just as great.