Sometimes I think visitors to Yosemite see its vagabond climbers as wildlife in the human form and observe them with all the same curiosity. I could hear the questions through their eyes in the moment of searching that occurs when you happen upon a creature in the wilderness and your eyes momentarily lock. I would have liked to explain but no one ever approached us to ask. I guess it was good wilderness ethic because they didn’t try to feed us either! There are those who understand, and those who never ask. I still wish they would, although it’s virtually impossible to convey understanding without experience. Climbers love virtually impossible tasks.
I was living in Akron, Ohio and on my way to law school when I encountered climbing. It came in the form of my most kindred spirit, Christie Whitehill. We met at a health food café where we both waited tables. By day I worked at a law office on the 17th floor but had already developed a growing resistance. The weather was the same inside and out when spring remained elusive. Winter’s drab and dreary overcast persisted without ever culminating into a storm. Those around me had settled into acceptance and I feared that in time I too would succumb to the slow surrender. In fairness, I was already on my way to becoming an eggshell, having emerged from the battlefield of my childhood shell shocked and hollow. It's when the pain gives way to numbness that you're really in trouble because it's your life force that weeped out. Fortunately, I still had the tools of youth which meant a lot of fight left and no attachments. I was fixated on finding meaning, evidence we were not forsaken. Yet standing by the copier under fluorescent lights, no answers came.
I was brand new to the sport when Christie invited me to join her and her boyfriend Michael on a multi pitch climb at Seneca rock. Inspecting the gear before hand I was mystified by the mechanics and how anyone could trust their life to any of the number ones. My lack of experience slowed us down. We still had two pitches to go and it was already getting late when a storm moved in. We would lose communication but knew Michael should reach the next anchor at the half way mark on the rope. He then climbed around a corner and out of sight. In the advancing wind, rain and twilight we began to shiver violently on our exposed ledge and when Christie fed the half way mark through her belay device, our eyes met. Had he climbed off route? She continued feeding the rope at a climbing pace all the way to her knot. Perhaps he had built a hanging belay. Then it was her turn. After an eternity, it was mine. Climbing third, all traces of man had been cleaned away, leaving me alone with all that air and then a broccoli forest. It was a beautiful abyss. Only my lifeline remained, like an umbilical cord rising up to nowhere. I had no faith it would hold me and no choice but to trust it. I continued inching upward and the rope remained taught. Primitive survival instincts reawakened my senses. It knocked me out of my head and landed me in my body. For once, I wasn’t thinking about my life past or future. I wasn’t thinking. I was feeling. Trembling fingers on cold wet rock. My right foot about to slip. My heart pounding. It was dark when we finished repelling yet vibrant color poured into my still grey world and pumped life into everything around me. As I pulled the rope from my belay device, I felt alive. I was completely awake and alive. And for the first time in a long time, I was really, really happy about that. That was the greater gift. Then for my joy followed mad, passionate gratitude. In that moment the world was right. It was all for something. I was hooked.
I took the next exit off reality’s super highway and embarked on a path less traveled. A path that, after numerous climbing trips and circling the globe, led to Yosemite. I was fortunate because I had found Christie. We totally clicked. Our dynamic turned out to be a powerful combination that opened the door to life’s grandest adventures. There is a special bond that develops when someone repeatedly places their life in your hands and you easily do the same with them. You encourage them while they are climbing and catch them when they fall. Then they do the same for you. And that’s it. When you’re doing this in practice on a regular basis, it makes it pretty easy to have flow with everything else. Through being good climbing partners we became great friends. Our plans kept working, so we kept going. It was our friendship that got us the real ticket, since travel is really about the journey within.
By that summer in Yosemite we knew exactly how to find the portal and could easily sneak through the gates into other dimensions. We were nomads then, but it felt like coming home. The Valley was a land of towering motionless miracles and magic in action. Tuolumne became our playground and we were excited little girls running from dome to dome. When we weren’t climbing we were backpacking. Between our climbing gear and our backpacks we were limitless in our exploration amid a world of endless awe waiting to reveal itself. We spent day after day in a space of complete trust and ultimate respect, for each other, the world around us and thus, ourselves.
In that state of being a sort of shift happens. Earth plane details become somewhat trivial, undeserving of too much attention; things like food and shelter. I suppose I should mention that we would have qualified as homeless and starving, if someone on the outside wanted to get particular. There certainly were no walls around us and you really don’t need much food when your soul is fulfilled. There may have been a few times when hunger brought us to tears, but it was a small price to pay and in some strange way, necessary for the experience we were after.
We were on a ten dollar a day budget which had to include everything for both of us except gas. Grocery store visits were highly strategic. Once in the produce section, we were amazed and delighted to discover the most enormous tuber either of us had ever seen. It was a jumbo yam and it was on sale. We couldn’t believe our luck. Due to its monstrous size it would feed both of us for just 50¢! Once in our possession however, it lost its marvel. When it came time to descend and the topic of dinner arose, our hunger seemed to out weigh the yam. We both avoided suggesting it as our evening entree until our dinner menu dwindled and the only remaining selections were chips and peanut butter or the looming yam. The pressure was mounting so we decided to place it on our dashboard so as to give ourselves ample opportunity to work up an appetite for it. The premise being, that if cats could get excited about eating a rodent through playing with it before hand, then perhaps such a strategy could work for us too. However, once the yam made its way to the front seat area our dynamic shifted to a trio and it turned kind of creepy. We were then driving around with our new, haunting freak of nature passenger. We had a situation and we had to deal with it. Wasting food was not an option. That evening as we were coming down from Stately Pleasure Dome, we met two other climbers. Once we arrived at our Trooper, our new friends happened to notice the unusual object sitting on our dash and inquired about what it was doing there. Both Christie and I realized that it probably did seem a little odd, so we openly shared what we thought was the practical explanation. It was a self incurred dinner sentence that we were optimistically trying to remedy through some sort of feline foreplay. In response, they produced a large bag of sweet and salty carbohydrates and offered to share. Ordinarily our code of honor would have caused us to have more restraint or at least decent manners, but after one bite our dignity was out the window and we devoured the whole bag. In a moment of eternal gratitude a lasting friendship formed. Thanks to the surprise goodies, it was the only time we had left overs to throw away!
We’d wait till evening to decide where to sleep. Of course we couldn’t afford to pay for camping. One of our favorite spots was the overlook of Tioga Lake outside the east gates. At night when we crawled into our feathery cocoons, we were giggly. In the morning we ate portioned bowls of Quaker Squares surrounded by God. We would warm our hands on Nalgenes of cowboy coffee and wait for the sun, each in our own little cloud of steam and breath. As I write even now, I can still taste the strong coffe and cold pine air. In the evening we allowed time for the sun to set encircled by tobacco smoke from a hand rolled cigarette that we would share.
Showers came in many forms, mainly rivers but also gas station sinks and towelette packages. When we really wanted to splurge, there was always the car wash. It cost $1.25, but you could wash your hair. We would take turns squirting each other while the other one would scream because of the cold and the pressure. One night we had slept in a bank parking lot. In the morning when the sprinklers came on, Christie tossed on her bathing suit, grabbed the Dr. Bronners and went off for her morning shower as though that’s what the sprinklers were there for. An abundant, resourceful mode of thinking happens naturally when you are spending lots of time in the wilderness.
For us, the desire for stuff had been replaced by pressure to accumulate. The Holy Grail wasn't waiting for us at Walmart so we weren't going to substitute by collecting a bunch of other lifeless, man made objects to sit among and declare ownership over. Belongings were burdensome, so the objective was always to make due with less and less. The minimal amount we had was packed to precision. Great care and consideration went into each item selected and we would have whole conversations over potential items we could eliminate. Selecting the correct Swiss army knife had posed a dilemma. We had to have the can opener, the scissor and preferably a serrated blade but nothing else, except possibly the tweezers which we deemed potentially useful enough for it's size and weight. We would have had to deal with a bunch of extras to get the serrated edge, so we opted for the simpler tool with a flat edge knife instead. That Swiss army knife and two sporks were the extent of our utensils. Our only clothes fit into one small drawer. We didn’t have things like a towel or a pillow because they were bulky and unnecessary. A bandanna was more than adequate for drying and a down jacket really is the same as a pillow when you think about it. We didn’t have a pot to piss in because we didn’t need one of those either, not in the land of Canaan. The more we let go, the more the universe seemed to provide. It was an exercise in ultimate faith.
We laughed at hardship, not out of arrogance, but because we genuinely found it funny. We laughed at everything actually and for the same reason, even mishaps where one would have faulted the other instead. One early morning, I awoke suddenly in the passenger seat to the sound and sensation of gravel striking the car. In a split second of accelerated thought, the scene around me unfolded in slow motion. We were on an outer edge, unguarded dirt shoulder of Tioga Pass. Christie had the pedal to the medal, and we were accelerating straight toward a Thelma and Louise ending. Even in that moment, as I braced for the plummet- death gripped and screaming, I still recall having complete faith in her judgment and was certain something had gone wrong enough to warrant the end. I was just overwhelmed with curiosity about what it was and confused by how I missed it. What comic relief it was to find out she had been feeling a little impatient that morning and decided to pass the car in front of us on the outside. She made it- with at least another half second to spare. Another time, I was driving and dosing at the wheel. The next morning I kind of confessed that I had struggled a little on my shift. Christie replied “I woke up and noticed your eyes were closed but we were still on the road so I figured I couldn’t bitch”. So she went back to sleep. We both laughed. We had developed a sort of comfort with fate and so our close calls became our inside jokes.
We had one last trick up our sleeve which you may find a little surprising. It’s the way we made money. For as much as we wanted to ignore that irritating detail, it did remain key to pulling the whole thing off. Our solution actually injected doses of the counter extreme which completed the entire experience.
Well, one of the places we had previously traveled to included Raleigh Beach in Thailand. It was there that we first saw fire dancers. We were both captivated and were not going leave without learning the basics. Four years later we were swinging fire balls in latex hot pants on a stage in Sturgis. Biker rallies turned out to be an easy gig to land and we managed to build a decent resume. We did fifteen minute sets in between bands and there were only a handful of rallies for the season. Hotel and food was included in the contract. We had fun at the rallies and met many memorable people. We made no prejudgments of character no matter how severe the tough guy costume. In turn, men were always gentlemen. We rode many miles on the backs of Harleys, but remained unfazed by sparkly pieces of bait. Nothing could have deterred us.
We tried incorporating our climbing gear for one of our Sturgis acts but it wasn’t the hit we had hoped for. We had found some camouflage bustiers and thought it would mesh nicely with our theme to start the show off by repelling from the rafters. Christie ended up burning her hand and I got yelled at by a large biker dude for landing on his table and spilling his beer. The owners were super laid back and gave us full creative freedom which was a good thing for us. Our debut performance there we had caught the side of their building on fire. It was the only time we needed the fire extinguishers. We were on our way out the back door and straight out of town when they intercepted us to invite us back for the next night.
So it was that we would slip from a reality of peace and perfection to one of noise and chaos, from impressive feats for no one to being center stage at the Disney Land for bikers; from the disapproving glances of our raw, visible selves to praise and applause for a silly act and disguise; and from cold dips and unsatisfied hunger to warm baths and unfinished brats. Regardless of the world outside ourselves, we were still doing the same thing: pushing limits, facing fears, discovering ourselves.
Christie carries the torch now. She is still traveling and climbing. I had been trying to make it home my whole life and once I found it, that was it. I settled near Yosemite and am a mom now. Those days are behind me. I don't talk of these things.
When my children rebel, I’ll dutifully play the necessary voice of opposition. Likely, I will be secretly encouraging them, but I don't know. Perhaps old age and this 'reality' will wither away at me and cause me to forget. The window in time when a lifestyle of utmost simplicity and pure gratitude is lost onto me now. And although I return to these same places, I can not see the miracle before me in the same way. It's OK because I still know how to get glimpses, which is enough to bring me back in memory. For me, the best way to get grounded is still to climb up on a ledge in the middle of nowhere. Nothing can get you up there. You don’t have to achieve or overcome anything. Just let it go, at least for a little while. The pressure. The heartache. There is such relief when you are left alone with all of creation and can relax into peaceful passion. Clarity enters in and restores what you have forgotten.
There seems to be some sort of life force beyond food, water, and less dense than air that we need every instant. I suppose it can trickle through the windows of a high rise and even through concrete. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. All I know is that I have felt it and when you are spending your days in the sun and your nights under the stars, you get a big dose of it. It felt like waking up in my life and slipping into sync. Words could not have answered my questions. Direct experience made them go away.
‘What on earth are you doing???” was the question they avoided asking for fear it could be reflected back. It wasn’t because they were sensing differences that they noticed us. They may not have known it consciously, but all visitors to Yosemite are following the same ancient instinct to return to the wild.
