It’s fall 2023 and I am nearly concluding my second season as a climbing guide at the Yosemite Mountaineering School. I am lounging on my back tucked deep inside El Cap Meadow, basking in the radiance of the white granite. I have a secret. Despite many years of my life spent climbing and guiding in this valley, I have never climbed El Capitan.

Frankly, I feel annoyed at everyone’s obsession with this mountain. She intoxicates them. Many people devote their lives to climbing her. When they are not climbing her, they sit in this meadow and worship her. And when they are not sitting in the meadow, they sit around a fire, and talk endlessly of her features.

That’s not to say I haven’t tried to climb her. There was the one time, part way up the Zodiac, we bailed due to a fierce snow storm. Another time, on my two year anniversary with my partner, we jugged up the heart lines and had a sleepover on the ledge. I even led all the pitches on the Freeblast. Multiple times, recommitting to my pursuit of aid climbing, I went up the first four pitches of The Nose.

I say recommitting to my pursuit of aid climbing because, full disclosure, I don’t like aid climbing. Before moving to Yosemite to work for the Mountaineering School, I guided for six years in the North Cascades. Aid climbing is the mountaineering of rock climbing. Just like mountaineering, you schlep tons of gear and grovel for days up to the summit of a mountain. In my climbing, I want to feel light and nimble and graceful. I want to wear a sports bra in the sunshine and pull hard on extremely well protected routes, only to return home to my bed at night.

However, this evening, alone in El Cap Meadow, I am actually contemplating climbing the mountain. Part of me wants to do it just so I can get it over with and say yes when clients ask me if I've climbed it. An even bigger part of me wants to know if I am capable of doing it. The biggest truth here yet is that actually, I’m really scared of this mountain.

This year, accidentally, without much foresight, I climbed each of the entry level walls in a day. Leaning Tower, Washington Column, Liberty Cap: they all went quickly and smoothly. In regards to fitness and skills, I am prepared to climb El Cap. But mentally? Emotionally? Spiritually? I decided that tonight, I would ask the mountain herself for an invitation.

I took a dose of a psychedelic and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was terrified. The pine needles of the tree above me turned to claws grasping for me. The granite mountain in front me morphed into a menacing skull and cross bones. Then at once, a giant, red “X” flashed, strobing over the mountain. I had my answer. I will not be climbing El Cap this season. The mountain does not invite me onto her.

The remaining weeks of my work season passed quickly. I continued to contemplate my vision in the meadow. Was it a premonition? I wondered, if I go up there, will I actually die? I decided no. Instead, the vision’s purpose was to make me confront the possibility of getting hurt or dying. The mountain did not want me to go up there, only to confront that possibility inconveniently part way up. The mountain wanted me to confront this possibility and fully consent to the risk before embarking on any climb. Climbing a mountain like El Cap is no casual pursuit. If I were to go up there, it would be with full acceptance of the risk, and only because of pure, intrinsic motivation. So when the perfect partner on the perfect day lined up, I asked myself: is it worth it? What is my motivation? My motivation no longer had anything to do with proving something to my clients or my peers. I wanted to go because I was curious to learn if I could do it. I understood the risks and this time, instead of fear, I felt calm acceptance.

My climbing partner Rhaude and I meticulously packed our supplies. They had climbed Lurking Fear before and had excellent notes. We landed on a plan to fix 3 pitches, sleep at the base, and then go for the route in a push. We opted for full commitment; we would not bring a second rope that would enable us to retreat. Not only was I going to climb El Cap, but I was going to climb El Cap in a push!

We began jugging our fixed lines at 4am. Instead of being anxious, I felt totally calm, even joyful. At this moment, my full self was consenting to be there. I was fully in my body, embracing the intensity and beauty of the moment. I led the first block, taking us up to just below the aid crux. Rhode took over and I followed behind them, into the sunset and eventually into the darkness. At Thanksgiving Ledge, there were acquaintances camped and extra water stashed. We drank deeply, smoked cigarettes, and then said goodbye as I cast off to lead the final pitches to the top. Once at the summit, we briefly celebrated, before stumbling down the East Ledges descent trail in a tiny weak headlamp beam.

That night I slept in my truck near the meadow. In the morning I drove to my employee housing and gathered the remainder of my belongings. I said goodbye to my boss for the winter and departed. Goodbye Yosemite Valley. Goodbye El Cap. Thank you for the safe passage. I’ll see you again come spring.