A Case for Dreaming

Y2K. RR, NV

The breeze catches my shirt, the chalk bag clipped to the back of my harness, the wisps of curl set free from beneath my helmet, gently urging me up...up...upwards. The sun is warm; not so hot to bake out my energy, but that perfect temperature that keeps the chill away. Calm, steady, smooth, I step higher, reach higher into the perfect splitter to a solid stance and bomber gear. I place, I clip, and I continue upwards on rock that feels as much a part of my being as do my lungs pumping a steady breath in and out and my heart that hums with the rhythm of my movements. Wings spread wide, a hawk soars above watching my moves, acknowledging with approval, my existence in this place. Without rushing, I make my way to the ledge, pausing to rest and take in my surroundings. Then I anchor in and bring my partner up.

Smooth, calm, and full of the same exuberance for this experience as me, my partner climbs to meet me. We high-five, share a chuckle at some inside joke that came from this experience, exclaim our happiness at this most incredible day and our burly achievement, swap gear. Then my faceless climbing partner continues on.

My partner is "faceless" because this is a dream. This partner embody qualities from many of the people I've climbed with over the years - the arms of one, feet of a second, ears, hair, helmet, harness of others, but with the inspired joy for this activity that all have shared. They cannot have a face, since one is not enough. In this dream, I scale the vertical and overhanging, small-featured faces and sustained cracks and I have no hesitation, I do not waver, I do not need to "take." I am confident and I am crushing it! 

My new friend, Mr. Burro

I love this dream. I dream it when I sleep and I dream it when I'm awake, while I stare over my desk and out the window towards the Olympics, out the windshield of my car, out the window by my kitchen sink into the dark as I do my dinner's dishes. This is the dream I'm chasing, hoping to turn into reality.

This dream was a big part of why I so eagerly anticipated my road trip to Red Rock Canyon. This was going to be a marker as to how far I'd come in my "year of climbing". I was going to get on BIG! things. And finally, as in my dream, feel like a real climber.

But, my trip was not what I expected. And this last week it dawned on me that I don't even know what being a real climber means. Can someone be a "fake" climber vs. a "real"one? Is there such a thing? And if not, what is this goal I'm trying to achieve anyways?

The current reality: I forget to breathe, my legs shake, my confidence falters. "Crushing it" means finishing a 2-pitch, 5.7 trad climb or clipping 5.9 sport bolts, maybe when pushed a 5.10, without panic. This reality is not my dream. I am not there. Yet.

Pre-lightning

In Red Rock, torrential rain, thunder, and terrifyingly close lightning were a surprise. I got only 4 days on rock instead of 7. Climbing Pauligk Pillar, that 2-pitch 5.7, took my breath away, required all my focus, and, were it not for my partners singing ridiculous songs for distraction, I might not have been able to smile away the heart- and climb-stopping fear (light-years away from even a hint of 5.12). The one "longer" route I climbed kicked me off at halfway when another downpour hit. I had enough down time re-repack my dirty clothes, wander a bookstore for half a day, and drink too much coffee. None of this was planned.

But also not planned was the time to make new friendships, renew ones I'd let lax, and redefine others, including the one with myself, this climber girl. (And the time to hang out with wild burro!) Despite all that was unexpected, I still had fun. So, what is it that this climber really wants? Is it to someday redpoint 5.12? Climb big walls? Find some hidden, unknown line to FA?

New day, new landscape. 

At one point, these goals were that beautiful dream. Maybe, they're still parts of it; I'd like to hope so. But they are no longer the definition of what that dream climb is all about. My purpose for being in Nevada's desert, on PNW granite at home, or on that nameless climb in my head has changed. While the dream may still look similar, I'm reminded that its actually about the feel of the breeze, the joy for a moment shared with a good partner, the journey to find peace through letting go of fear, the fun in achieving even 5.7, and in the unexpected goodness of "off" days with friends.

One thing I am very confident of; I still love this dream, its what real climbing is to me. And this is reality.

Nineteen Hours

First 19hr leg: Seattle to Vegas by way of Twin Falls with a five-hour sleep at the KOA and a drive-fueling breakfast at IHOP. 

Last 19hr leg: Newport Beach overnighting outside of Los Banos, CA in the back of my car with a brief stop at Mt Shasta enroute back home. 

The long and straight of it

Between these was the ~9 hour drive from Vegas to Newport Beach - in which I did have great company and a relief driver. And also was the 5hr RT drive back to Jtree in a last desperate attempt for one more day of climbing. Over the course of 11 days, I tallied 3,356.9 miles, most of which I racked up alone. 

There is a bit of pride that comes from the willingness to go for what I want, when I want, with or without anyone else. No partner for a memorial day weekend backpack? I'll sleep in the snow myself. Travel-mate-less catching a chicken bus in a country who's language I cant speak to a location I cant pronounce? No worries, I've got a smile, watched a lot of MacGuyver, and can get myself out of most situations. 

Many friends have taken on bigger projects, farther-off lands, longer journeys; alone. In my circle of adventurous friends this attitude is common, almost of a requirement of "being." Its typical among those who seek out adventure, and I feel, an especially noted point of pride in women. Just look at the number of books on Amazon with titles such as Wanderlust and Lipstick, A Journey of One's Own, or Gutsy Women. Its as if going through life solo is the most worthwhile, strong, honorable, and only way to go; by any other means is a life with less value. To be solo is to be independent. To be independent is to be strong in mind, and heart. To be strong in mind, and heart, well shoot, you're practically Yoda. Though my goings alone aren't all that exceptional, I've still how I've gone about life.

Somewhere in northern Nevada...

Living without needing others there has been my MO. There's no one else who's opinion must be weighed into plans. No one else's bank account balance to be considered when determining if I can or cannot extend my own dollars. No one else's needs that need meeting. No one else's thoughts to invade my own. The solo experience has meant independence of not having to deal with someone else. 

Solo time can be recharging, a good check in with myself, to quiet outside influences, and just breathe. I sometimes worry too much solo time might make me go crazy. But usually what seems like "crazy" is the road to my own sanity and I come out feeling refreshed and recharged to keep pushing for good things in my life. Solo can be good. 

Which is exactly the reason I found myself alone on a 19 hour drive to Vegas just over a week ago and a 19 hour drive home Sunday night. 

But a 19 hour stint in a car. Twice in just over a week...well, it provides a girl a lot of time to think. Alone.

And I realized, I've had it wrong. 

The experience of life is so much richer, fuller, more memorable when I have someone, or several someones, I care about along for the journey. The sun is brighter on my face when there is another face turning up to feel its warmth next to mine. Lightening storms are more intense, scary, and thrilling when friends sit on either side of me oohing and aaahing at the bolts that flash all around us. The weird road signs and interesting passerby are more laughable, more interesting when someone else's eyes see them too. What is challenging, beautiful, giggle-inducing, sorrowful, inspiring, mundane; it takes on an extra level of meaning when its witnessed not just by me, but also by the ones I'm with - even if we experience things on a wholly personal, unique level. 

Copilots are key in safe navigation...

So maybe its not the popular way of traveling through life, maybe its not my OWN old, preferred way of living mine. I might be considered weak, unable to truly face my inner self, or heaven-forbid, needy, by others (or myself) who tout the solo journey as the only way to find meaning in this experience of life. If that is the case, then I accept being weak, I accept that I'm needy, and I will never be as cool as Yoda. But who effing cares? My life will be so much richer for the sharing of it. And I am grateful to my friends and family who have shared parts and pieces of this life I have lived. And also to the ones who will share more with me down the road. 

Is there any point to all this blathering about of words? I suppose not really, or only really to me. That I'm newly challenged to redefine the value I find in this life I have been given. Now, time to go live it. Care to join me?

"Once Upon A Time" Was Yesterday

I love my yoga teacher. Or rather, my yoga teacher's assistant (Eiric says you are your own teacher, he just helps that inner teacher figure things out). I have learned more in his class the last 5 weeks than I did in many of my college courses. If I'd taken his yoga classes during college, perhaps I would've done better.

Eiric's class began with him talking of a scenario: "you know that feeling, after you've read a page in a book, but once you turn to the next, you can't remember a single thing you read?"

Ridiculous dog pauses for a campaign photo

I exclaimed to myself, "Yes!"

He continued, "this happens because we're distracted." And that distraction often comes from us inserting preconceived notions into a situation, anticipating before letting it play out, our expectations distracting us from the real moment at hand. (sometimes, honestly, I cant remember a single word because I'm so tired I keep falling asleep and the book keeps smacking me in the forehead, but still...).

Very often in reading or yoga, these thoughts come in the form of dark expectations; "last time I fell in this pose", "putting my feet over my head is scary", "its so strenuous and my legs burn." And you'd better believe this happens for me all the time climbing. Thoughts run rampant like one continuous what-if, "what if I fall...what if my strength/balance fails me...what if my belayer gets distracted by a bee flying around their head/the cute belayer next to them/my ridiculously funny dog/blowing bubbles with their gum?"

But really, so what if any of those situations were true once upon a time. Maybe once upon a yesterday I fell over in a pose, or once upon a year ago I took a mini-fall a few feet. Maybe they were true. Once.

Today is different. Today is all new. We all have previous moments in life that helped shape who we have become. But we certainly are not required to react now the way we once did. Today, we're allowed to let go of expectations shaped by yesterday. Let go of the "shoulds" or "dids". Each experience, even if its a repeat motion, is new today and different from any other time. 

A place I can always find possibility...

I have anxiously been counting down the last days before I break free to climb in Red Rock Canyon. This trip feels a bit like coming full circle; my goal of the Year of Climbing came partly out of my trip there in March. My break tonight from gearing up was to go to yoga and Eiric's message was incredibly well timed. Let go of expectation, let go of old perceptions. Let go of Darkness and Embrace the light. Similar Arno Ilgner's wise words in Rock Warriors Way to "look for the options," Eiric's class was a reminder to open up to possibility. Possibility allows that anything can happen - it is in this space that I can move, grow, learn, and truly feel life happen in the moment. 

Taking my teacher's assistant's words from tonight to heart, I've packed them along with my rock shoes, swim suit, and camera. I've also packed along another of his teachings - and my mantra for the summer - "its not good, its not bad, it just is." Oh, and one last bit of good thought dispensed to me tonight, "dont forget to have a ton of fun." I packed that as well.

Wishing you Possibility for whatever you choose to step into tomorrow, too.

(ps - i love my yoga studio! if you're near beacon hill and are looking for one, i highly recommend yoga on beacon. so much goodness in that little studio.)

Fear is a Four Letter Word

Darrington, my new favorite spot

I admit, I fell off the wagon for a bit. I was doing so well (City of Rocks, Squamish, E32, Darrington) but things slowed in the last few months of my Year of Climbing and I was a bit befuddled as to why until recently. "What happened," you wonder? Well, I was doing quite well and then who do you suppose knocked on my door again? Yep, my dear old foe Fear stopped by to remind me it was still hanging around town.

It happened slowly. But the big kicker came, ironically, on one of my favorite climbing days of the entire summer. Rappelling off of an awesome route in Darrington, I came to the last rap station, and while chitchatting to my partner - you could say I was a bit distracted - I forgot what I was doing. I’m embarrassed to admit the situation completely, but thank God for my partner’s strong arms (hence the distraction), a huge ledge at the anchors, and my own quick reflexes. Considering the location, angle of the slab, etc. I don’t think anything bad would have really happened but the potential of an accident of my own doing was a scary reality check that I’m only now realizing had sunk deep into my psyche.  What I did realize the next time I was out, was that my old foe Fear, who’d taken a break from me for a while, was back.

We have a complicated relationship, Fear and me. Like telling a stubborn teenager to do anything rational, Fear can push me to do the opposite of what it’s trying to convince me to. But, being the kind of person who doesn’t feel its necessary to rock the boat unless it really matters, Fear is most often very good at convincing me to do what it wants.  I was happy that I’d had a break from this dysfunctional relationship, and I was peeved it was back. ?!*&%?!

My inner stubborn, foot stomping, huff-puffing, teenage-angst-inspired self finally decided to put my big-girl boots back on and kick it in the shins.

Looking Fear in the face, 1 granite crystal at a time.

A few weeks back, my kickass roommate, Sara and I went to E32. We’d talked about climbing together since she moved into the little green house and it was finally time we made it happen. It was no surprise to either of us, but climbing together is just about as natural, fun, and comfortable as a gin and tonic sipped in a hammock on a warm summer night. And, being that we were in such a state of climbing partner bliss, we hopped on a10something-or-another at Blackstone Wall we really didnt have any business leading. I’d TR’d the climb before so felt ok on lead and clipped the first 4 bolts, but backed off at the 5th. There was too much reach, too much exposure, and my post-workday head wouldn’t let me reach Fear’s shins to kick it away. So Sara made a go. Solid. Finesse. Stretch.  Lock off. Hold…hold…uh oh. Dropping into the smoothest, most controlled fall she shouted "Falling!!!AAHH!" Down she went letting loose a fantastically huge scream. WOAH! I was ready to catch her fall but certainly wasn’t ready for her powerful lungs to give it quite so loudly.  As she shook out her arms, she calmly let me know to expect anytime she popped, her fall would be accompanied by a scream. She then got back on and rocked it up to the 5th bolt (it was sketchy, folks, but she made it look like ballet). 

I never knew falling could be so graceful. Or so explosively loud. And that both could go together and be a good thing.  Screaming- I can do that.

The two of us decided to back off the climb after I clipped #6, but not before I took a couple practice falls. Its true! Me! Falling! And this time, I let my terrified self express it's feelings. Vocalizing the fall made it just a smidge less scary. And it actually felt kind of good. It didnt take away the fear entirely, but made it a bit more acceptable. 

Lightbulb #1: Scream more often cause it feels good. Piece of cake.

Guides on rock

Fast forward to Labor Day. We went to Leavenworth. The first day was a nice and easy one for me getting to take the follower’s seat. But the afternoon of the second day, somehow I got dubbed the rope gun. What the?! Huh? I took it on with reluctance; I was climbing with a couple of guides after all. Wouldn’t they naturally want to lead? But there I was. The first went fine with a few slow, shaky moments of pause. But then the second...

With encouragement from the guys, I was making progress. Until it just ran out. Where did all the features go?! Hardly an edge to hold onto, not much to smear on, I was stuck. I tried going up a couple times and backed down. Looking down at Austin and Eric, I admitted I didn’t think I could do it. The real reality? I could feel Fear trickling in, wrapping its cold, hard fingers around my brain. And squeezing. Until the battle began with my stubbornness sett in.

Patience is a kind belayer

Barely sticking to the wall by the crappiest of nothing features, I slowly let myself stand taller to reach above me. Slowly, slowly I moved and then POP! I was off the wall and falling. And falling. And still falling with enough time to turn and look at the guys and yell, “Are ya gonna catch me?!?!?!” (But with a few extra choice words thrown in for spice. Sorry, guys.) Scared and completely rattled, it felt like I’d fallen forever and so very far. Far is supposed to be bad, right?! Remembering to breathe I took a moment to shake it out. And in that moment the hard reality sunk in. I was actually fine. No scratches, no bruises even. Just fine. And maybe, just maybe, was I feeling a slight bit of enjoyment out of the shock, adrenaline, and fear of the fall? So doing what any misnamed rope gun would do, I got back on, and finished it. Yes, I was still a little shaky after I made it back to ground, but the new sensation of mild enjoyment and the renewed determination to finish what I’d set out to do was completely exhilarating.

Lightbulb #2: Discovering new sensations can be entirely thrilling. Take the time to do it more often.

Glow of sunrise on Rainier

This past Saturday I was determined to get to Camp Muir (remember my distraction from Darrington? yep.). The weather had been terrible and winter was starting to put out the welcome mat, but it was supposed to lighten up. With good motivation to get there along with the pure enjoyment from having a trail and all its beauty all to myself at 5am, I knew with the melted out trail, I'd be fine at least until Pebble Creek. Getting that far would be easy enough even if it was totally socked in and at that point, I could safely decide to keep going or head back to the car. 

Lucky for me the morning was gorgeous. The lower clouds broke up just as I hit Pan Point and I had the most gorgeous views for my hike up. The morning slowly wore on as I warmed up in the shelter and it became clear that the weather would turn that night to the point that climbs were being called off for safety. While shoveling snow (yes, I like shoveling snow – its therapeutic) the clouds began to roll in. I was told I should keep an eye out and be sure to head down before 3pm.

At 3pm, it didn’t look good. Not quite a white out, but bad visibility. And the snowfield had apparently opened up in a few places since I’d walked up that morning. And I was solo. And I'd given away most of my food. And I didn’t have a compass….

Pre-panic in the early hours of the morning

So many things running through my brain in an attempt to prove that going down was a terrible idea. Dang you FEAR! Back again, fingers on brain, squeeeeeeezing. And I was scared. Being reassured with a smile and a kiss and a confident “you’ll be fine, follow those people going down and stick with them” helped but didn’t make the lump in my throat subside.  As I headed down with a few tears in my eyes, I was reminded how terribly out of my element I felt. Fear, you are cruel.

I moved fast through the rain and the clouds wanting to stay with the party near me but the desire to be down immediately pushed me faster. And then the clouds lifted. Not enough to make the rain stop or reveal the peaks around me, but enough to see the trail below. Before I new it, I was at Pebble Creek, then Pan Point. It was beautiful! Even the marmots were out enjoying the day chomping on drippy, brushy green snacks. And I began to laugh. What was I so afraid of? I had nearly let the Fear take over what had been a wonderful day full of surprises that kept getting better than I’d expected. As I laughed at myself for being so silly with it, I realized, my experience also wouldn’t have been as real without it. The cold wouldn’t have felt so cold, the views once revealed wouldn’t have looked so rugged and beautiful. The time spent with others wouldn’t have seemed so precious and fun.  If I hadn’t had Fear as my company, would I have missed out on all these most important experiences?

No need to fear, even what cant be seen

I realize I’ve had it all wrong all along. Fear hasn’t been my foe, but a friend – there to keep my reality in check, to highlight to the wonderful things I experience.  To push me to try harder, expand my point of view and help me discover newness all around me. Maybe I even like this four letter word.

Lightbulb #3 Don’t pass over the pleasure of fear. Without it, challenging experiences wouldn’t feel so vibrant or real or inspire the hope to come out, unscathed, on the other side. 

My relationship with Fear may be more intimate than it should be – obviously I don’t know it all that well, so perhaps I should take the time to learn and get comfortable with it. And yes, Fear is a four letter word that often elicits the use of other four letter words. But it also is so often related to other so very valuable four letter words that without a little fear wouldn’t be quite so precious; hope, time, love, and cake.

Confessions of a Glutton

"Do you have any extra room in your pack?," my roommate asked in a breathless voice punctuated with a bit of urgency - it was late after all on the night before my departure. "Do you have just a little bit of room?"

Well, sure.  I'm a pretty efficient packer. So, "yes", I replied as I skimmed my packing list for last minute essentials that I may have forgotten at this late stage of prep.

"I have a blessing for you..." My sweet friend had carried a wish back with her from Nepal, a trip she took last fall before I was lucky enough to meet her. My blessing, carried so far, is so simple and beautiful; a few pieces of rice wrapped in paper and carefully closed with bright colorful thread. To be honest, I dont know if there is meaning to the colors of thread or the way its wrapped. I dont know if the paper holds special significance. I'm not even sure, really if there is actually rice in there since I cant quite feel it through all the paper.

I could, however, read the words of the prayer written by Lama Geshe from Pangpoche:

"Give up all intention to harm others from your heart
And do your best to benefit them all
If each and everyone feels the universal responsibility to do so, 
We will all enjoy the feast of peace."


Hmm. I also knew the love that carried the blessing from my friend's hands to mine, and that carefully watched my blessing be placed in a special spot in my pack. From one climber to another were passed the hopes for safe travel, for success, and most of all, for an amazing experience to mark a significant moment in life. Sara's small gesture was a nugget of strength that helped me climb to over 14,400' this past Friday. (little did she know, those 10 months ago in Nepal, that this little package would be so important to an then-unknown girl on a glacier, high in the sky - i love unexpected connections like this.)

Two days later, as I made my way with my team and our amazing guides, from Paradise to Muir, we passed a number of groups enjoying the bluebird day and the views the mountain had to share. One family made a big deal of moving to the side - "look, climbers!!" I almost felt like a celebrity *blush, blush* - a little pride glowing at my hope to summit. As we passed, the father asked, "how far will you go?" "To the top!" one of my teammates replied. "Well, then I'll toast your trip with a glass of wine tonight," the father replied. And just like that, another blessing was passed our way.

To many folks who see the mountain on a daily basis (or whenever it chooses to show itself), it is simply a backdrop, a local icon, something they will only look at but never set foot on. And on the flipside, Mt Rainier, to many climbers is not a colossus. But this volcano that I've lived in site of nearly all my life was a challenge unlike any other I'd previously taken. And one I'd only been offered 4 weeks prior - and I was intimidated. I like my life. I didnt want it cut short by some hungry crevasse or a resident, fire-breathing dragon, who perhaps goes by the name Wade Olsen.

Over the course of the 2 days prior to our summit, I was gifted other pieces of goodness to pack away and carry with me by unknowing givers; the camaraderie of my team, the most perfectly golden pancakes cooked up by our guides with hot cinnamon-y coffee to chase them down, duct tape stuck to sensitive spots on my feet, shared snickers bars (which, folks, let me tell ya, they mean a LOT at 10,000'), and conversations with other climbers at various stages of their own climbs. Little things that could be taken with a grain of salt (or rice) but all added up to little wishes of goodness for the climb that helped ease my nerves.

After we successfully summited on a most beautiful day, we encountered other day-trippers near Paradise who asked how far we went? did we succeed? and then responded to our replies with congratulations, cheers and in one case, applause even.

What generosity. And kindness. From everyone - strangers, old friends, new friends. Like the encouraging words of Sara's blessing, the days of the climb were a few brief moments where we feasted on peace. And they served as a reminder why it is I do this sort of thing. Why I choose to climb steep rock, travel trails through forest, and in this case, summit a tall volcano. It seems, outside the regular, rat-race day-to-day, the best in people shines through. And I just cant help it but I'm a glutton for the goodness I find in the people I'm lucky enough to meet along the way.

Back in the Day...

The day of March 13th, to be exact, I'd just arrived in the sunny city of sin to gamble. I wasnt putting my hard earned green backs on the line but was betting a bit of skill and pride on some beautiful, red sandstone. Anxiousness reigned - would I come out ahead, break even, or find myself in a deficit?

It was my first visit to Red Rock Canyon, and as we drove down Charlestown Blvd towards the park, I felt anticipation amp up as my jaw hit the floor. How was it that I'd traveled to Vegas a number of times before but never knew this incredible place was only a short drive from the strip? (guess i should've laid off the tom collins's...)

My good friend, patient climbing partner, and coworker - and the reason I was even there - Herr Folk had prepped me on what to expect from the rock and after an early flight and hearty breakfast, we were pulling into Calico Canyon. Wind that tried to barrel us over and nearly took limbs off by forcefully slamming car doors couldnt stop me! I wanted to get on that rock!  Letting Herr Folk take first lead, I watched as he climbed higher, and higher, and higher...Oye. Couldnt we have started on something a little, ahem... shorter? A few pitches in, including one gentle lead by yours truly and I really felt like the cobwebs might be shaking off.

So wrong, little grasshopper.

A day later, in Mesculito Canyon, nerves nearly got the better of me as I barely pulled a 5.7 trad pitch. It took quite a bit of cursing (i know, i know... i thought i was angelic too. apparently, i'm more like a sailor), a few roughly grunted "watch me's!" and some terrified "taking" at the most gigantic ledge-like rests, I topped out. Honestly, it was brutal. I was hot, tired, sniffly from a cold. And I was really, really scared. I began to wonder if this climbing schiznit was really for me. Maybe I'm not built for this? Maybe, I should stay the ever-enthusiastic follower, happy to belay her leader wherever they want to go - as long as I can safely stick with pulling gear, not placing it? Maybe I'm not ready to play with the big boys and girls who are willing to take risk? Maybe, I never will be. Ugh. There was no "maybe" about hating that feeling.

Oh, March. How long ago you are! (thankfully)

Another day, the opportunity to climb with some SLC friends who let me be middle on a couple of longer climbs in Mesculito gave me a new sense of nervous confidence. And I was mercilessly teased for being a sandbagger, and for not being able to heckle (still working on that.). Sandbagger? Me?!  I had the strength in arms and feet, a bit of balance and finesse to keep up, but the head? No sandbagging here boys, that part of me was still back in primary school of climbing.

My last full day, I was lucky enough to participate in a clinic at the Rendezvous. (I'm incredibly lucky to work a company that not only supports my hobbies personally, but occasionally sends me out on mini-adventures to do them as part of my job.). I'd been sent to the Red Rock Rendezvous to help out Senor Folk and had been granted a precious afternoon with one of our athletes, Sarah Hueniken. She's an incredibly kind and kickass guide from Canmore and was teaching a clinic on anchors and gear placement for women. I got to mock-lead, then rappel down with her as she examined my gear. The verdict? It was all solid, all fall-worthy. A few small recommendations, but overall, her take: gear is good, confidence? well, honey, that's what needs the work.

I left, having had an incredible experience, surrounded by amazing people who also happen to be inspiring climbers. I pushed my limits and was scared out of my gourd! And I realized, though it may have taken a fellow female climber to point it out, that I actually can bring it to the table, if I only have the guts to believe in myself.

So I took that 2cents to heart, and I'm starting to ues it. And I'm seeing just how much more I can throw down. The year of climbing. So far, so good.


PS - still havent figured out the quote biz.... so, 1. Herr Folk nearly getting blown over, 2. Giving me the "what the heck, scared sister?" stare down in Mesculito Canyon, 3. A good game for determining the leader played out by Jesse and Shingo, 4. Sarah sharing her superwoman knowledge with us

De-Seattle-izing the Approach

I'm trying hard to relearn my take on dealing with situations; learning to cut to the chase rather than passive aggressively beating around the bush in classic Seattle style. I'm a born Seattleite after all, so this is a bit of a challenge.  But with that in mind, here's the deal... Most people who climb with me know the routine. We get to the rock. I'm psyched!!! I'm feeling strong. I can do this!! And I'm gonna love it.

And then.

I hit an arete, a windy, airy exposure like the one in that photo, or a run out. And. I. Freeze. Scared shitless to day-ruining degrees. I could give you my classic line - I started climbing to get over a fear of heights...blah blah blah. But lets cut the BS - its been 7 years. Its finally time to quit with the passive aggressiveness (or whatever you want to all it) and step up.

Turns out, I climb quite well. Having been a swimmer for a long time, I have "those" shoulders and arms and I'm happy on rock when I can use them. I love the feeling of getting a sequence, of dancing on rock. I especially love climbing when I have a top rope coming down to me. The love of leading has been harder to nurture. Its really more of a love-hate relationship. I love to climb, hate the thought of falling. Just ask my dear climbing partner Zanetka who recently laughed after I shot her the "are you effing kidding me?" look when I was asked to just Fall. And it was during falling practice, so I knew I was going to have to let go at some point. See, the problem is I dont trust myself or, maybe better confessed, dont have the confidence to trust myself.

So, in similar fashion to a day 7 years ago when I decided a fear of heights was dumb and I'd better get over it by getting high up, I've decided this silly lack of confidence is gonna have to go, too. The time has come to get over it. So here I am in the middle of my self appointed Year of Climbing. Time to step it up, cut out the passive aggressive bullshit and make it happen. I'll keep you posted. So far so good - I've got some catching up to do on this end, but already, as of July 1 when I hit the post button, I'm on my way. And I must admit, the love is growing. Happy climbing.