About two weeks ago we arrived here at Ceuse with nothing more than some clothes, a small tent, a whisper lite stove, some climbing gear and a few days worth of food. Upon arriving via a series of train rides, bus rides, and hitched rides we inhabited a campsite situated under some hazelnut trees. We chose such said site because strewn about in its vicinity were two small wooden tables, a couple of white plastic chairs, a few pallets, some string and a tarp very crudely rigged between two trees. This place had potential! So, we happily moved in making quick use of all inherited items.

We restrung the tarp, moved the tables under it, set a chair on either side and soon enough we had a nice little kitchen built. The tent we placed under one of the trees. I should mention that the tent we have is minus a rain fly, thus making any sort of wet weather a somewhat iffy scenario for us. Before we left Grenoble for the country we went on a search for tarps at various outdoor stores and paint shops. Oddly enough it seems that the French don’t have such a huge market for them and all we came up with was a small plastic sheet that barely covered the tent. And with some rain on the projected forecast we chose the spot under the tree offering the most weather cover and rigged the plastic sheet over it hoping for the best.

A few days into our stay while at the dumpsters relieving ourselves of our trash we acquired some more discarded campground items. A small la fuma chair, which was broken but usable (for a while at least);  a little butane stove, which had a melted plastic cover but also seemed useable; and best of all two perfectly edible carrots, which allowed us to stretch our food supply a couple more days.

We got lucky for a bit with the weather and had about ten days of blissful tent living. With the newly inherited second stove we also enjoyed many delicious meals of stir fried delights, pasta with sausage, lentil soups, fresh picked apple tarts, and our new favorite snack Nutella wrapped in cabbage! But, as the saying goes all good things must come to pass and with that came the rain. It did, however, work nicely with our schedule as the bad weather moved in with our planned rest day. And, so we huddled in our leaky little tent until things were so damp and cold we could take it no longer.

Ceuse has some of the best accommodations of any campground I’ve ever seen. In addition to  a barn with a ping-pong table and climbing wall they also have a few caravans for rent. Once we were good and soggy we decided to go big and take up residence in one of these little tin cans. In a matter of minutes we went from squalor to baller from dirt bag to trailer trash! And here we are today living the good life of climbing until exhausted, eating until full, and sleeping in a bed with a roof over our head. Yes, indeed the living in Ceuse is easy.

Tracks laid across landscapes

traveling through towns and villages and

countrysides spotted with evidence of human habitation.

Arrived at the depot carrying backloads and armfuls

of our minimum possessions.

Through cobblestone streets where passersby looked on in curiosity.

The climbing rope, tied to the outside of the pack,

telling a tale of what we seek to do.

Through a large wooden door on the street

up polished slabs of camel colored stairs.

Winding upward to another door where we can stay the night,

before retracing our steps.

Down stairs, out of doors, across streets to a bus

that took us through more of the countryside.

Into the hills and slopes of mountains with walls

made by the earth of limestone rock.

Arrived in Gap with stomachs empty

and the heavy loads pulling us inward.

We sit at tables eating kebab until full

from which we continued out trek on up the hill.

Thumbing a ride at the edge of town.

A middle-aged woman, Vivian, transported us

to the camping at the base of Ceuse.

The place where James Douglas Morrison, better known as Jim Morrison, lies to rest. His body entombed under cement and granite, engraved with the dates of his 27 year human existence. Vandalized and idolized. Crowds of people from across the globe stand in awe of this small landmark, barricaded and hidden by the larger tombs.  Snapping pictures, smoking cigarettes, conversing in hushed voices as if afraid to raise the dead. What is it that we come here to find? An understanding of what it was like to be Jim Morrison? Clues to a past? Hints for a future? A glimpse of mortality? Or perhaps a longing for something, a seeking of connection to an era, to an idea, to a way of life and a way to express ourselves? Or is it as simple a thing as just another site to see, a tourist trap like the Eifel Tower? The answer isn’t so clear to me as I try to soul search myself for the reason I wandered around in search of this grave. As cliché as it may sound I felt propelled to go there, to pay my respect, to a man who tried to break free of the ideals and confines that society has installed. He tried and in many ways he succeeded. And in those successes he made a deep and profound impression on an entire world and I find that to be quite noble, even though in the end he was perhaps his own worse enemy, trapped by his own ideals with a longing to escape.

The plane lurched forward as it hit the ground waking me from a fitful sleep as we pulled in to the gate, arriving in Belgium. The flight across the Atlantic somehow seemed to go by faster than I realized and soon I was exiting the plane down a brightly lit hallway which spilled out onto the cold slab of the Brussels airport. Many flights had arrived at the same time and we were being herded into lines determined by citizenship. Those with European passports to the left all others to the right. I was tired and excited and thankful to not be sitting any longer. Once I had secured a nice spot in line I lowered my bags to the ground and stretched my arms up towards the ceiling, my spine stretching and popping back into its upright position. With my arms in the air a strong aroma rose up from the depths of my arm pits. As it inhabited my nostrils my thoughts were, “whew, stinky.” Next to me in the line for Euros about three feet away I noticed a man catch the smell as well and wondering where it came from, fearing that it came from himself he opened his sweater and smelled his own armpits. He shrugged his shoulders, a bit bewildered and seemingly relieved as he realized it was not he who smelt so strongly. I found these first moments in Europe to be a bit ironic; because in the States it seems to be common thought that Europeans tend to be the stinky ones. And yet here I was, turning the table around – perhaps I would be fitting in just fine.

Broken bits of Freedom

lie scattered amongst the

bordered in trees

The essence of the land

use to run free

like wild horses in the wind

Now you rest here

with me and your

smoothed out edges

Lines etched across

wooden grain

A tribe broken

like the Buffalo

on the Kansas quarter

A glimpse of life gone by

But we’re making dollars

and expanding possibilities

of pipelines to capture

water diverting life

into used up wounded

beings of police brutality

and white-collar crimes

against nature taking

our spirits and tricking

our minds to sign up

for your military in the

name of killing for protection

our liberty to purchase

your $90 yoga matt

The keys to our spiritual reconnection

In Cadillac’s pulling

through McDonald’s

A cardiac path to self-destruction

We used to run free

like wild horses in the wind

But now we are owned by

those who have stolen life

With their patents on seeds

and boxes of greed

Cluttering up the harbors

and ports with landfills

of 5 cent deposit plastic

water bottles polluted

with petroleum-based products

lubing up the pain

of the realization

that we have sold ourselves

to the lies and manipulation

of the true cost of living

in track homes with no backbone

to carry the load

of perpetuating life.

Monday morning and I’m fortunate enough to be sitting on a rock next to the Tuolumne River and not at work someplace. It’s been 10 months since I’ve sat here in this very spot. I’ve been coming here for five summers now and it’s become a familiar place to me – it feels very much like home. One of the last memories I have here is being with Ron, Susan and Beth enjoying a breakfast of fruit that the ladies brought over. We sat together sharing in the company, the place and the food. That’s what this river means to me, sharing.

Sidney and I use to come out here in the mornings. Ron was always up and enjoying his riverside coffee before me. Sid would come running over here, so eager and happy to tell him hello after a night’s sleep. We would sit here, sipping steaming coffee from warm mugs; enjoying conversation or simply just being with the flow of the water. Occasionally Sid would get too warm from the sun and venture back to the campsite, waiting for me to join her so that she and I could continue to share time and space. It’s been almost a year that she has passed away – her final resting spot here in Tuolumne. And so this morning I’m at the river alone but with me these memories and emotions and these rocks that are consistent companions.

As I sit here this morning listening to the water as it finds its way down stream it’s telling me many things. A little over a month ago I had my too close to death experience that left me unable to climb for many weeks. For the majority of those days I was in much pain and my focus had shifted to just getting well and strong again. At times it felt like an uphill struggle and fear would creep in. I feared that I would never climb again, that I would be riddled with this pain and lack of movement for the rest of my days here. When I took the slip down the East Ledges slabs I told myself, I told the universe that dying up there was not an option for me at that time. I made a very clear decision to not let that happen. And so I find myself returning beck to that determination in my recovery process. I will get better, I will climb again has been my mantra.

Last week I went climbing for the first time since the accident. It felt ok. My endurance was a little less and the strength of my left leg was less than the right. I had only recently started riding a bike to rehab myself and build my range of motion. I was growing eager to see how climbing would feel. I still had some pain and discomfort and I knew it wasn’t ready yet. I felt that within a week or so it would be even better. So, I continued to take care of my knee – biking and some PT as well as acupuncture. Things were getting better.

Yesterday I came back to Tuolumne and went bouldering. I was amazed at how much stronger and better my knee was feeling. I could do things that only a week ago I could not. I marveled at the resiliency of the body and the power of the mind. I had plans to meet two of my girlfriends back behind Pywiak Dome to do this climb, “Electric Africa.” Both of them are working on this route, it is their project. I was thrilled to go there with them and offer my support. I was also curious as to how I might feel on it myself.

To me “Electric Africa” is the epitome of what Tuolumne rock climbing is about – technical, balancy and beautiful. The backside of Pywiak is one of the most spectacular places in the world. Tenaya Peak lies to the west; to the east are undulating domes that continue to give definition to Tuolumne; directly behind the dome are these granite, water streaked slabs that rise up to meet with a view of Cathedral Peak.

Sitting there with my friends I thought about the recent news of an accident on Cathedral Peak. A young woman had fallen 400 feet to her death. I was struck sick by this information. I recalled all the thoughts and feelings that went through me as I was sliding down those East Ledges. I could only imagine how she must have had similar things racing through her as she was free-falling, only she didn’t walk away. As I lingered on this thought my name was being called. It was my turn to climb.

My friend handed me the rope and as I tied myself in looking to my belayer for insurance that she had me I felt so fortunate to be able to put on my climbing shoes and climb again. I wasn’t expecting to be able to pull all the moves or to even make it to the anchor. I was simply there to enjoy the place, share the company and get my body reacquainted with the rock. As I reached up to grab onto the first holds everything seemed to come back to me – the focus, the movement, the technique. I moved up the rock freely, flowing like the river. I had pulled all the moves, I had reached the anchors. I was surprised, actually, at how easy the climb had felt. In all my times there it had just felt the easiest. I lowered to the ground, untied and sat down.  I placed my hand on my knee – it felt good. I was so grateful to be able to move like that again. A few minutes later I did another lap on the climb – once again reaching the anchors without compromise. I was filled with joy.

But, the joy wasn’t from making the climb exactly. The joy was from just having the opportunity to climb – regardless of outcome. And it dawned on me how deeply personal rock climbing is for me. It’s a pure expression of who I am – fully engaged in nature, sharing.

It’s Wednesday; a beautiful day in Yosemite with flowers blooming, bees buzzing, dogs running and children playing. It’s a huge contrast to the Wednesday of two weeks ago. It’s been fourteen days since I took the ride on the East Ledges. I’m still recovering, healing, getting back to what I was like before. Except, as each day passes I move further away from what was before. I know that I will never be what I was in the past – this is an impossibility, one that we each carry with us as we keep moving forward. And so it is a good thing because with each passing day I’m moving closer to being better, better as a human being, better as myself.

I’m  sitting at the tree in El Cap Meadow – the tree where us climbers tend to gather. And it’s a rare moment in time for I am here alone, aside from the life of nature that surrounds me. A bullfrog croaks in the El Cap lake as a nice breeze moves through the grass, the mist from Ribbon Fall sweeps across the trees to the west of El Cap. It is warm in the sun but the shade is working its way across the landscape. I’m sunning my legs until I, too, am consumed by the coolness of the fading light. My left leg, slightly bent at the knee, because I’m yet to be able to straiten it. And I’m taking care not to expose the still tender and pink laceration  on my head to the sun so as not to worsen with wear.

Running my fingers over the healing scar I think about the stitches that held the skin together. My flesh, busted open and bruised, exposing the truth of what’s inside. Sewn together so as not to leak out, not to come apart. As the days go by and I encounter more and more people, climbers in the community, friends and heroes and I share my story of near death and disaster they share their own tales. Stories of falls down ice shoots, slips down rock scrambles, falls on rock faces – stories of broken bodies, broken skin and how they were put back together to heal and mend.

As I hear these stories I come to understand that the stitches that held each of us together are more than just medical procedures. They are the part of what hold us all together – to each other – threaded through the community. They are the glimpse of our mortality, the fragility of life, the knots tied at the ends.

Mikey Schaefer photo

Ben Ditto photo

It’s Monday, May 10th and as of this moment Ben Ditto and I sit snugly in the little wooden cabin while a lite drizzle hits the shingled roof. We are supposed to be on El Cap right now – traversing the Golden Gate with Hayden Kennedy. But, the merciless weather on the wall forced us down to the ground.

Some months ago when Ben and I were first talking about going free climbing on El Cap some of the original idea was to figure the free variations to The Nose as well as the Salathe. The winter weather had been stormy with frequent systems delivering both rain and snow.  I was personally suffering from low morale and was looking forward to the glory days of late spring Valley climbing.It was decided that Ben would come to Yosemite and we would climb as much of what we wanted to do as conditions would allow.

A couple of weeks ago we started to check out the free variations on The Nose. But conditions were wet and storms kept coming in. We soon came to understand that freeing the Great Roof pitch would be out of the question as well as several other pitches. We considered going up there anyway but the idea of aid climbing was unappealing.

Hayden had been talking about this route, Golden Gate. A line that the Huber brothers freed which cuts off right of  the Salathe Wall. He felt like much of it would be drier than the Nose as well as many other lines on El Cap. After a few conversations and some glances at a topo it was decided that we would go check it out. We had a small weather window of great conditions backed up to a small system of possible rain and snow. We were going to check it out no matter and would plan for both the best situation and for the worst.

We would free climb up to our bags on Heart Ledge then move everything over to Hollow Flake where we would bivy one night and then move up a few pitches the next day to the Alcove. From there we would see what the weather had in store for us and which way we would proceed. If things were looking good we would go on to Golden Gate. If things were looking bad we would bail.

Day 1 we started up Freeblast. Hayden and I swapping leads and tagging a second line for Ben to minitraxion up. By noon all three of us had reached our bags on Heart Ledge. We needed to move over to Hollow Flake ledge and haul our bags over. What proceeded was more free climbing followed by what can really only be compared to wrestling pigs.  Once the bags were with us we set up camp – putting together the port-a-ledge, adding more clothes, cooking food and enjoying the beauty.  We had about two hours of light to enjoy looking down at the meadow and across to Middle Cathedral before the sun dipped behind the canyon walls.

Night descended. And as I laid in the ledge looking at the star filled sky I could hear the frogs down in the meadow making their nightly chant for the water – for the rain. A few satellites orbited by and we caught the glimpse of headlamps coming down the Catwalk gully. They seemed so far away and I was relieved to not be them as I tucked into my sleeping bag and drifted off into the dreams of the universe.

Day 2 morning arrived and with it a chill that had us shivering in our bags. As the sun rose higher swifts and swallows and ravens were flying about, catching the wind currents and hanging on the breeze. Middle Cathedral was aglow with the light of a new day and we sat enjoying our breakfast of pop-tarts and tea. Clouds started to move in and we discussed the best options for moving forward. We decided to take down camp and get things ready to haul. We would either go for a day mission up a few more pitches and then bail to the ground or we would go up to the Alcove and bring our bags with us.

Ben Ditto photo

After we were packed I led us up the next pitch. As I was nearing the anchors it started to snow. It was a little taste of some alpine conditions. But it tapered off and I belayed Ben up. Hayden followed on the minitrax and Ben and I launched off on the next pitch. Halfway up the pitch it started to dump on us. Hail was stinging our faces and we were at a standstill for a while until the weather slacked off and we could proceed forward. Things were getting pretty wet and cold. I climbed up to meet Ben while Hayden rapped down to our bags. It was decided for us that we would bail off  the wall. We never really needed to talk about it, we all just sort of understood that was the thing to do.

As the weather continued and we got increasingly wet water was pouring down the slabs onto Hollow Flake ledge. What had been a comfortable, ideal, dry bivy had quickly turned into a large puddle. One in which our poop tube was floating! We were getting a beating from El Cap and were happy to be retreating. As I dealt with stuck ropes and sketchy rocks and water pouring down and around us I came into contact with two of the smallest most beautiful Monkey Flowers I have ever seen. There they were nestled into a crack in the sea of granite with its cascading water, vibrant with life! What seemed so fragile and small was completely at home and capable of dealing with such harsh conditions. I was humbled by my own fragile humanness and and marveled at how ironic life can be sometimes.

After some more rappelling down into space we arrived at the ground and were greeted by our friends with hot tea, whiskey, smiles, and empty packs to carry our stuff in. We were happy to be feet on dirt and in the company of comrades. Even though we were forced down the wall we had succeeded in getting up and down alive and healthy.  It turned out to be a great trip anyway.

Each of us as a human has the right to our own vision(s). Through these vision(s), I believe, we find the opportunity to discover who we are.  As a rock climber my vision is to continue to allow the places in which I climb to shape me into the best human being I can be. My vision is to walk a humble path of strength and power, but not power in a take over sort of way. Power in a way of personal freedom, the freedom to be me and express it as best I can.

Traditionally, it seems, societies had a sort of rights of passage for the people to assist them in their visions and aid them in their path of growing up. As a Yosemite climber one of the “traditional” rights of passage is climbing El Capitan. As a free climber my personal rights of passage is not only climbing El Cap but free climbing it. This brings us to today.

It’s a rainy day Tuesday here in Yosemite. And a rest day to boot! Yesterday Ben Ditto and I went up on The Nose to fix our ropes up a ways. The general idea is to free climb our way up there or “French Free” if need be and check out the route.; to become familiar with the terrain and the systems, etc. I’ve had my fair share of long routes but I’ve never done a wall in full wall style. Meaning, mostly that I’ve never hauled before. Yesterday was my intro to hauling!

This was very interesting aspect. Throwing one’s weight around in order to haul up a large bag full of gear and water and food is a bit of a burly task, especially if you are trying to free climb. Needless to say I was a wee bit worked by the day’s end. But, it felt great and it had me (it has me) excited about the whole goal, about the vision.

So, the rest day, rainy day is welcome. As of this moment the weather is looking like rain and possible snow until Friday. Come Sunday its sunny skies and we’ll most likely take up residence on The Nose for a few days. This will be step three in the whole process and something I anticipate greatly. The climbing will be interesting, the hauling will be tough, the view will be breath-taking and by the time we reach the summit I’m pretty sure I’ll be exhausted. It’s going to be a good journey and I look forward to seeing what lies on the other side.

The Eastern Sierra dream-scape patterned onto the world.

Shinny, shimmering glimpses of a life perpetuated by life.

Ebbing and flowing.

Catching currents of the wind and riding the crest of the crashing waves of a reality dreamed into being.

Crossing boundaries and borders.

Seeping through the cracks.

Grabbing hand holds to pull through to the higher level of freedom.

Being.