Taking One on the Head
Stuck inside, I dive deep into the ocean avoiding the oncoming wave. Hoping to not be sucked into the wave and thrown over the falls. Swimming down a bit late, I am lucky this wave’s energy doesn’t descend deep, but it does show up early and stay late…
Stuck inside, I dive deep into the ocean avoiding the oncoming wave. Hoping to not be sucked into the wave and thrown over the falls. Swimming down a bit late, I am lucky this wave’s energy doesn’t descend deep, but it does show up early and stay late.
Surf photography from the water is something that I have come to love. I haven’t been able to nail down the exact reason why, but maybe it is a subtle reminder of who I was as a kid, swimming in a pool for hours every day. Maybe it is a reminder that my life on this planet is ephemeral, as the waves hold me under. Maybe it is something else.
As I begin returning to the surface, the tail-end of the wave swipes my feet out from underneath me. My body twirls and I have lost control. Then, out of nowhere, a push from below shoots me out of the water like a whale breaching. Immediately, I turn my gaze to the oncoming wave and realize my time is limited, so I take a long breath and begin to dive.
When you are under a wave, at first all is calm. You can feel the power of the wave building, coming directly at you. You’ve accepted it is inevitable, you are going to be hit by the wave. Then, for a split second, when the wave is directly overhead, the lights go out. You are in complete darkness. Time seems to slow down at this point, you have held your breath for about 5-7 seconds. Just as you are about to move into the light, the power of the wave hits you. When you submit and relax your body, the wave typically spits you to the surface.
Popping back to the clear skies, everything is white. The foam from the churning wave resides. Another wave is coming. Trying to time my breath, I exhale, hoping to lower my spiking heart-rate. Another huge gasp, my fins are overhead, and I am diving deep.
A… B… C… D… E… Saying the alphabet helps me maintain composure. Counting numbers builds anxiety, especially when I would get into the 20s and 30s. My ABC’s move slower as well, so I don’t freak out when 26 letters have past and I have to start again.
The wave hits me hard, I’m trying to make it to the surface. Tumbling me head over heals and in random 360s, I change from a ball into a pencil. I can see the light. I’m on letter H. The undercurrent straightens me out and shoots me to the surface.
When I return from submission for any wave, I continue holding my breath until I know that I will not be breathing in water.
Stuck inside for three waves, I’ve watched surfers riding these double-overhead bombs, hooting and hollering for each other as they take the drop. Staring at the inbound surfer pumping towards me, he ducks under the hood. Lifting my camera for the shot, but I’m too deep and too late.
The surfer zooms above me and the wave closes out, taking the wave straight to the head!
Tossing and turning, I didn’t get to dive deep, nor did I get to take a solid breath. The alphabet starts out of habit. I pull the camera close to my belly, so I do not bonk myself in the head. The underwater routine is habitual; darkness, chaos, light, then air.
Shooting out of the water waist-high, just like the first wave. Looking for the next wave, I am glad to see I have time to move further outside. I lay on my back for two breaths, then begin kicking towards calm water. I need it.
To my surprise, there is a surfer staring at me. “Hey man! You O-KAY?” He shouts to me patting the top of his head with a closed fist, the universal sign for “I’m okay.” I shoot him a smile, tap my head, and continue kicking out from the inside.
At that moment, I don’t have to question why I am out there.
Nightly Journaling
Crawling into bed she reaches over grabbing her journal and pencil. The bedside lamp shines its yellow glow upon the unlined paper. The page is blank, yet her mind is full of the day. Each night she slides under the covers, following the same routine. She asks herself five questions, recording her thoughts, then lays her head down to fall asleep. That routine has just begun. Tapping her eraser against the blank page she runs through her day. Then, she writes:
Crawling into bed she reaches over grabbing her journal and pencil. The bedside lamp shines its yellow glow upon the unlined paper. The page is blank, yet her mind is full of the day. Each night she slides under the covers, following the same routine. She asks herself five questions, recording her thoughts, then lays her head down to fall asleep. That routine has just begun. Tapping her eraser against the blank page she runs through her day. Then, she writes:
What did I learn today?
Today, I became aware of an insecurity I had not known existed inside of me. Out of no where the feeling bubbled inside me as I sat alone and watched the sun fall into the ocean. Without anyone to share this sunset with me…
Finishing the thought and taking a sip of water, she moves onto the next question.
How could I have been a better person?
Several times throughout the day, I wasn’t present. My mind wanders to the future. I wish I was closer to my dreams, but I know I am far off. Fear and jealousy creep in every time I allow my mind to wonder. Building anxiety that I can not control. When I am focused on the task at hand, I am fine. Tomorrow I shall continue following my compass, for if I look backwards, I have made significant progress. Why is this so hard?
Laying on her back and propping her journal on a pillow, she starts to think about the third question. A question she has enjoyed asking herself these days.
Why did I get out of bed today?
Lately, I have been jumping out of bed before my alarm goes off. Even though I am exhausted, the most I have to do to wake up is to ask myself a simple question, “Are you going to waste this morning?” Then I am up. Today, I knew I had an opportunity to see…
As the tears of joy began surfacing and ran down her cheek with each blink, she works on the next question.
What was shared with me today? What did I share today?
Shared with me today was an abundance of love from family and friends. They smothered me with text messages. For that, I am exceedingly grateful! I should thank them tomorrow!
Today, I shared a few images on Instagram from a recent assignment in Joshua Tree National Park. The images are okay. I am happy that I shared them, but the edits were not as good as they should have been. They are a bit overexposed and don’t really tell a story.
Taking another sip of water, she sits up in bed and begins working on the last question.
How can I prioritize tomorrow to take a step closer to my ideal day?
I have been focused on creating work I am proud to share, but I have not been sharing it with this world except through IG. Tomorrow I will start sharing the work I am creating on a multitude of different platforms. My goal in this lifetime is to share the beauty of this world.
After a quick smiley-face doodle, she closes her notebook, and places it on the nightstand, turns off the light, slides under the cover, tucks a pillow between her arms and legs, and closes her eyes. Her mind is thankful she already knows what she needs to do tomorrow.
My Perfect Day: Late Morning
After the memory card fills with morning barrels or a dead camera battery, I swim to shore to exchange my camera for a surfboard. Getting back to the van, my partner is dancing to some of her favorite tunes and she makes her morning coffee. The way her smile touches her ears as she sips that mud water, releases a net-full of butterflies into my belly.
After the memory card fills with morning barrels or a dead camera battery, I swim to shore to exchange my camera for a surfboard. Getting back to the van, my partner is dancing to some of her favorite tunes and she makes her morning coffee. The way her smile touches her ears as she sips that mud water, releases a net-full of butterflies into my belly.
“Don’t you dare get me wet!” She looks at me with that petrified look because she knows I want to bear hug her.
Disregarding her wish, I try to swoop her up. Fortunately for her, she is much faster than me as she runs down the beach with coffee in hand. Thinking to myself, Maybe I should learn to run? Nah. I don’t mind being the slow cat in pursuit. Heading back to the van, I grab my surfboard, sneak a few sips of her coffee, and run back to the waves.
Joining the boys in the water, we surfed a few barrels. At this point, our bodies are wrecked from the continual swell we are so excited to be along the Baja coast to enjoy. So, we mostly are talking and riding the occasional wave.
“Last one in misses out on breakfast!” We hear the call from a buddies partner.
Thankful for their hard work to make a delicious breakfast, we start taking waves in. Running my hand through the water, I take my time selecting the wave I want to ride in for breakfast. The sun has risen to what I would guess to be roughly 9:30 am. Outside of the breaking waves, the ocean feels calm. There is a tranquillity that draws me to the ocean and surfing. This attraction has kept me coming to the waves for over 15 years. Sitting and breathing, I realize my time has come to catch a wave in.
“Well, Mr., nice of you to join us all for breakfast.” My sassy partner has that look in her eyes that tells me I should have come in a bit sooner. However, she also knows that those moments in the water alone are what make me, me.
I quickly run over to the van, exchange my surfboard and 1mm shirt for sunglasses, my camera, and sunscreen. “Damn, where did you all get this spread?”
“It is just a little something we through together.” A buddies partner slyly says.
“BS! Where did you find oysters and tuna? Also, you made rice!” With a bewildered look on my face, I am excited to dive in. These are some of my favorite foods!
“We ran into a fisherman on the beach after you chased me and drank my coffee.”
My buddy nudging me, “You’re in trouble man!”
My eyes grow and I look around. We all start bursting into a laugh!
Enjoying breakfast, I wander around snapping different angles of this perfect picnic breakfast on the beach with friends. To myself, I whisper, “Gosh, how lucky am I? Great friends, endless waves, a sore body, a wonderfully playful-partner, and the ability to live my life photographing.”
If Tomorrow Was My Perfect Day: The Morning
The starry skies of the Baja blanket the beach we slept upon. The waves have been out of this world and our bodies are sore from the onslaught of surf sessions. The morning's goal, start surfing waves before the sun rises over the mountains.
One of my favorite questions to ask while on a trail is, “Describe your perfect 24 hours.” Usually, I spring this upon my partner at an unfair time, a large uphill. I wanted to get into the nitty-gritty for what an ideal 24 hours would be for myself, so I figured I would share the day in blocks.
“Heyo! You ready to shred?” It is 4:45 AM and one of three buddies wakes me up with a few solid knocks on the van.
“Woot! Woot!” I shout back.
The starry skies of the Baja blanket the beach we slept upon. The waves have been out of this world and our bodies are sore from the onslaught of surf sessions. The morning's goal, start surfing waves before the sun rises over the mountains.
Crawling out of bed, I kiss my partner. She rolls over a bit annoyed but used to the routine. My contacts go in without any issues, a difficult task in the dark. My camera is already set up in its housing. I slide into my board shorts and put on my 1mm shirt. Grab an apple and plop some peanut butter on top for breakfast. Slipping out the door, I try to close it gently, but realistically I wake my partner from the slam of excitement. Sorry…
The morning light hasn’t started shining through yet, we are right on schedule. The guys look at me laughing. Two of the guys have a partner with them, the other is single. The single one says he prefers it that way. I am the last one out, so, naturally, the target for the morning jokes. In a round-robin format, they jab:
“Hey man, late-night huh?” Nudging his elbow into my ribs.
“Oh Mr. Cameraman, welcome to the party. Glad you could grace us with your presence.” He knows my pet peeve about cameramen slowing down a group!
“Awe, that is cute, she even made you breakfast…” to nobodies surprise, the last guy kills it with a bad joke!
“Are you all ready to catch some waves, or should I get a stage and microphone set up?”
Eating my apple, the sound of the break booms against the shore as our feet sink into the colder sand. Soon, the first light will shine down on us, so we must start paddling out soon. There is a channel to take us out. Since I am the slow photographer with fins and no board to paddle, I am the first one in the water. Dipping under empty barrels, unridden in the cloak of darkness, firing past me. Outside of the waves, the morning is silent. However, each time I dive deep to avoid a wave, my ears go from silence to having a 747 fly overhead then back to silence. The guys pass me by as I work to find an angle on the break in the dark.
My buddy who woke me up gives me a fist bump as he paddles by, “It’s going to be a good morning!”
Looking to land, the cacti are beginning to silhouette under the blue lighting. Soon we will be ripping barrels and getting sunburnt. Filling my memory card with empty barrels, I find my positioning. Throwing a shaky hang-loose to the guys, they send one back. It is time for the morning fun to start just as the yellow-orange sunlight fills the sky!
Unpacking a Lesson on Relationships
The mountains have become my classroom and these words are lessons I’ve extrapolated from my education.
Inhale… Exhale… This is f$#@ed up! Inhale… Exhale… You got this, it’s only 4th class. Yet, the doubt creeps in and my heart rate spikes as I begin toeing in my left foot, pulling-up on that bomber right hand, stepping onto the high right foot, and all I have left to do is step up. The sloping talus field crumbles below into a blue-green lake, sitting around 11,500 feet, dwarfed by the surrounding mountains.
My first solo scramble in the Eastern Sierra took me by surprise. Blinded by my resume, believing I was on a simple jaunt to the top and back. RJ Sector describes 4th class as climbing a ladder with high consequences. How hard could that be? I mean, I have climbed much harder than that. I have experienced more exposure than that. I have climbed taller mountains. I have… I have… I have…
I have confidence.
Yet, lacking the compassion and the humility to sympathize for the mountain, I was there for myself. A “relationship" developed in my mind, not my heart. A little lie here and another one over there lead to the fixed belief that I understood and experienced the flow of the mountains. Hell, I had spent SO much time exploring, I got this! A perfect example of the lies I would tell myself, only this one I said as I crawled out of my van and headed up the trail.
A long tradition of building one-sided relationships strings together my life. Friendships, lovers, teammates, rope partners, and more were for me. Part of the reason I live out of a van and spend “alone-time” stems from my selfishness and impatience. I want to be in the mountains. I want to achieve these objectives. If nobody can come with I’ll just do it by myself. As I write this, emotional angst floods through me, for all I can see are those relationships that have fallen by the wayside. So, I protect myself with another lie, relationships come and go.
Since that day, I began listening. I began watching. I began unlearning. Now, I read through guidebooks and check trip reports, as if the mountains were another person on my social media feed. Spend time with mutual friends sharing photos, tales, and near misses from our recent interactions with these giants. Sometimes, the mountains and I do not see or talk for months, yet, random things make me recall memories of our time together. Developing this web of communication often feels as if the mountains and I are past lovers checking in on one another to see if the time is right to rekindle our relationship.
It is true that relationships come and go, but only if you let them. Compassion, sympathy, and space allow growth needed to recognize and acknowledge that selfishness and impatience so that you may be present for the flow of the relationship. While effort, persistence, and dedication aid in maintaining our relationships.
Unscrewing the lid to the registry, I mumble, How cool is that?! This registry dates back to before I was born. Writing my name amongst our mutual friends, snapping a few images to share with those interested in seeing, and beginning to reverse those 4th class moves on my way back to the van, I’m thankful for the safe journey.
Mountain Classroom
The mountains have become my classroom and these words are lessons I’ve extrapolated from my education.
Craving unstructured teachings, I submitted my application to The School of Hard Knocks and was rejected. Yes! I thought to myself, I must have gained admission. Quickly, however, I realized that was not my acceptance letter. Exploring this planet curiously, with my eyes open and my ears perked, I dreamt of becoming many things focused on rejecting the American Dream I grew up knowing. Yet, I never got away.
A false summit in the Mount Mallory and Mount Irving grouping in the Eastern Sierra Mountains in California.
Living out of a tent, a car, and eventually upgrading to my current residence, The Princess—a dodge van—I realize I am no different from my peers who walked, instead of cartwheeling, across the stage to receive their diploma and a hand-shake from the university president. We all continued developing our craft, building and losing relationships, and dumbfounded by the steep learning-curve of patience.
Rome wasn’t built in a day. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. Be patient and you will get what you deserve. These mantras have rung in my ears from those who have worked hard for the last 20 years. Those who have a house, a car, a life-partner, two kids, and a dog. Those who have a 401(k), retirement plan, and two weeks paid vacation. Those whose complaints are not of survival, nor necessity, but of desire.
Awaiting my admission to The School of Hard Knocks, I remain wide-eyed and listening curiously to the world. Thankfully, I’ve dipped my toes in the alpine lakes of the mountain amphitheater, where my teacher patently guides me through her lessons of continual unlearning.
Trip Report: Mt. Langley
Details:
Peak: Mt. Langley
Rank: 9 in CA
Date: 10/19/18
Start: 07:00
Return: 18:15
Elevation Change: about 7442 ft
Distance: about 18 miles
Route: North East Chute
Class: 2-3
Description:
Start at the trailhead of Tuttle Creek (my van wouldn’t make the entire dirt road, so walked an extra mile to the TH) and follow the trail until it crosses a creek, heading north to Ashram.
Turn south and begin route finding to the chute. You can see a “waterfall” in the distance, which is the base of the chute. The route finding is so so, for people have cairned the way but often intersecting with other paths.
As you begin ascending the chute, which you are not totally aware of doing, you quickly realize you have met the mental crux, a long sandy ascent. Keeping a rock cliff on your left, the east, and the “waterfall” on the right, the west, keep ascending. Once the foliage stops you, cross the spring and continue up and over the rib. Now you are in the chute. Work your way west until you find the dry river bed.
Take the dry river bed up. This is really not a river bed, but water runoff for snowmelt during the spring.
You will come upon a bench, head for the saddle and brave the sand! Continue pushing your way up the chute to the top of the chute.
Congratulations! You are ready to push. You have a nice long walk and can see the summit of Langley. Walk to Diaz Pass trending northwest gradually.
You have two options, Diaz pass or the rocky slope. Both get you to the south slopes. I would suggest Diaz pass unless you are comfortable with class 3+/4 scrambling because the rocky slope sets you up perfectly to send a not-so-obvious route to the summit. From Diaz pass continue walking west until you find a scramble you want to tackle, class 2-4 depending on your choice.
From here work your way to the summit, sign your name in the registry, eat lunch, and head home! Remember, you are only halfway!
The Story (the humanized version of the journey)
Waking up to my alarm at 02:00, I realized that 5 hours of darkness and my insecurity in route finding was not a combination I wished to endure. Resetting my alarm for 04:00 I would begin walking around 05:00 and have 2 hours of headlamp journey.
Turns out I forgot to turn ON my old alarm clock. But the time was correctly set. I awoke to first light around 06:30. Quickly, gargling down my thermos of tea and consuming my overnight oats, I had one last decision, bring the thermos of tea or no? The debate was rooted in the desire for more liquid versus the weight of the 40 oz Hydroflask. I decided to leave the extra liquid and do with my 48 oz of water in my bladder.
Excited to hit the trail, yet burning up in my wardrobe after walking a mile I stripped naked at the TH and work only pants and a sun hoodie in the shaded 40ish degree morning. Now it was send time!
Seeing the Ashram from the trail below I wanted to detour to see a piece of climbing history, but knew I was behind schedule, so I passed.
Now, for all of the trip reports and guide books that say follow the obvious chute, I’ve gotta give you all the middle finger! Yes, the chute is obvious, but that is when there isn’t towering foliage clocking your view of seeing the obvious chute. Route finding is frustrating. Sliding down the hill with each step in the sand, I realize my work is cut out for me. Tired of the sand, I scramble some class 3 slopes to the high point so I can see where I am at. To my surprise, I am headed in the right direction and have made decent progress, despite the copious, conflicting cairns sending all over hill-and-dale! Down-climbing and finding the line I am happy to say I’m ascending the river bed.
The ground was finally solid and I began moving quickly. So quickly I began losing my breath and could feel my heart pulsing through my ears. Taking a seat I caught my breath, allowing my heart rate to decrease. Continually making forward progress, the river bed gave way to sandy slopes. These slopes were the mental crux of the route.
As the sun peaked over the western ridge I headed for the trees to avoid the ever-increasing wind. That was a navigational error! On the bright side, I got a magnificent view of the Comb Ridge. Taking my breath away, I hung out for a bit. So, I guess it was worth it.
Making my way back to the chute, I ascended the second bench. Langley’s summit comes into view. Hunkering behind a boulder and out of the wind I check the time, 10:05.
“Not bad. I’m making progress!” my little pep-talk.
The soil was delightfully packed down, making the mile or so walk along the gat ridge quick. Not to mention a herd of 14 Big Horn sheep prancing ahead of me, their white butts all lined up as they ascended the ridge with Langley’s summit in sight. An image one should endure at some point in their life. Once again I headed a bit far north, this time on purpose to get another view of Comb Ridge. Striking is the size of these four peaks shooting out of the ground.
From here I had to decide. Ascend the ridge to Diaz pass or take the rock scramble in front of me. Greatly disliking the of descending a wee bit to the summit through Dias pass, I headed up. Stopping regularly to catch my breath, this climb might have been the most physically demanding on the route. My hands were clawing up and my jaw was clenching as the cold set in. Reaching the top, I sheltered myself from the wind in order to put on underwear, a fleece top, gloves, and a windbreaker. Noticing to summit form my location I would have to find a line along the south slopes to the summit. Cold and mentally exhausted, I decided to walk west until I could find an obvious line that would go at class 2. It worked! Soon I was on the summit eating lunch and signing the registry.
The descent went quickly, especially down the sandy slopes! The cry creek bed was rough on the knees, but the spring water refill was much needed! I actually finished that second 1.5 L by the timeI reached the ashram. Thankfully I had enough daylight to spare and relished in this modest, rock-building that supposedly housed Warren Harding’s “Low Sierra Eating, Drinking, and Farcing Society”!
Food, tea, and falling asleep by 19:15.
Time log:
07:00 Left van
07:25 Trail Head
07:55 Ashram
10:05 Second Bench (summit in sight)
13:40 Summit
14:10 Left Summit
18:55 Trail Head
18:15 Return to van