So many things have happened since my last post. The last two years have been full of big changes, sudden turns, and unexpected challenges. Even when I’ve had time for storytelling, I haven’t had much energy.
Overall, life has stayed beautiful. I’ve conquered fears, made mistakes, tested my spirit, and proved myself wrong. I’ve learned about failure and myself.
At many times and in many places, climbing has kept me above the waters of confusion and self-doubt. It’s hard to explain my relationship with this sport, the essential balance that exists between the rock, my body, and my mind. I’m so grateful for climbing, for words, for friendship, and for fear.
I want to keep sharing my life here. I’ve wondered for months how I would execute my return. I never finished profiling Ecua-crags, and I didn’t meet all of my training goals. I’ve been to so many new places. Where could I start?
I left Ecuador to work for The Climbing Academy, a traveling high school for rock climbers. We began the semester in Bishop. Eighty-three miles closer to home but on the opposite coast, I felt farther than ever from my roots.
The Happies and Sads offered a final humbling taste of volcanic bouldering between school days in our rental house. After a month in snowy California, we headed to Mexico.
In Potrero Chico, I climbed on limestone for the first time. After a few sketchy falls on crumbling choss, I found myself rebuilding the sharp-end confidence I’d developed in Ecuador. “This is limestone?” I asked myself. The tacos were worth it, but only just.
Weeks later, though, the tufa wonderlands of El Salto enchanted me. In the otherworldly Tecalote cave, I decided to become a capital-S-C Sport Climber. In Nevada, I fell in love with Mount Charleston’s deep pockets and invisible feet. I discovered a style to which my body felt truly suited. Taking whips and trying hard, I finally trusted the rock and myself. (Read on for the rest.)
I won’t make promises this time. All I’ll say is this: I want to tell many more stories.