Page 65 of Entwined Hearts

Another jolt of nerves hits my core. “I heard,” I say because it was all the news around the campsite last night. A chunk had come off the west wall in a location near where Jake and I are climbing. Nobody was hurt, but a piece the size of an apartment calved off in a similar place last summer and killed a man who’d been hiking along the base with his wife. I’d been climbing in a different area, but the sound of rock tumbling down roared like an avalanche. For weeks after, everything in the Valley was coated with fine, gray dust—almost like ash.

We spend the next half hour covering who will carry what gear, the approach, then dive into his detailed notes regarding the crux. My focus narrows, everything else fading into the background.

“Meet at the trailhead in half an hour?” he asks.

I sip the last of my coffee and agree, realizing my shoulders are strung up to my ears.

The wall we’ll be scaling is a giant cliff of solid granite that rises thousands of feet from the valley floor. It’s a world-class climbing area, but people don’t have to climb a wall of solid rock to get to the top—there are trails that can get an adventurous hiker there in a few hours.

My breath finds its rhythm in my chest as we hike in silence up the steep trail. I think of the text I sent Colby last night, letting him know I arrived safely.

He promised to be here Friday evening, the night before Jake and I will get a crack-of-dawn start on Widow’s Walk. It’s not great timing. When I’m preparing for a big climb, I’m not good company. I’m too nervous/excited/scared. My confidence feels thinner by the hour. I worry I’ve forgotten to pack something. I don’t sleep very well. But then, when has Colby let me get a good night’s sleep? I blush at the thought of it, and a craving for his kisses on my body tingles through me. But the night before an intense climb like this? No way, I don’t want that. Will he understand?

I wondered if he would reply with:Miss you. Or something equally simple but sweet. But I only got a thumbs-up. Is it okay I’m excited to be here even though he’s not? I do miss him, but being here, doing this climb, feels right. If I think about it too much, my head starts to feel like a washing machine sloshing round and round, so I push Colby and my feelings to the background.

At the top of a gully full of granite blocks we had to scramble over, the route ascends a sloping slab of granite to the true summit. Up here, there’s no railing, no rope, no guardrail. One misstep… and it’s a messy tumble to the edge followed by an exceedingly long freefall to the valley floor. Not that a slip is likely, but it is exposed.

I’m in the lead, but my legs freeze. A cold breeze wafting from below sifts through my hair. From this vantage, we are as high as the surrounding cliffs, higher than the birds who soar below us. My heart jumps right into my throat, beating so fast it’s like it wants to escape. I picture it breaking free and scampering up the slope to safety.

I realize I haven’t been on anything this high since Morocco.

“Hey,” Jake says softly behind me. “You know the drill. Don’t look down. Just keep moving.”

I breathe. He’s right. I lift my gaze to where a stunted juniper grows from a jumbled pile of rock, its bristly needles poking the sky like the spines on a cactus.

With the wind cuffing my ears, I step onto the weathered granite surface. The drop off to my right seems to pull at me. I take another steadying breath and get my other foot on the slab, then I’m focusing on my footsteps. Occasional trees grow from fissures in the rock, all weathered by the wind and harsh elements. Some have fallen, crisscrosssing the rock in various states of decay. I carefully step over one to a safe place to rest, then slide my pack from my shoulders and perch on its butt. With shaking fingers, I reach from my water bottle and sip slowly. Was I nuts to try this climb so soon after arriving? Maybe I needed that warmup after all.

Instantly, we get to work building the anchor and rappel system we’ll use to descend safely to the crux so we can spend our day practicing it over and over. Pulled in by the comfort of routine, our hands crisscross, our communication coming in the form of carabiner clicks, the hum of rope being uncoiled, the zip of my climbing harness tightening around my waist. We do our cursory safety check on each other just like we always do. When he inspects the belay system attached at my waist, his hands brush past my belly. I shrink back, but if Jake feels it, he doesn’t indicate it with a response.

We each snap the gear we’ll need for the day onto our harnesses, plus slide on a daypack with essentials, then it’s time to rappel to the edge of the wall and drop over the side.

His eyes have that dark, hungry sparkle, and he grins—that knowing, sly smile that used to set my heart on fire. But today, it brings only sadness.

“I’ll go first,” he says. “Set up the anchor.”

Before, this would be the moment when he would kiss me.

When he steps backward, his eyes following the rope draping down over the cliff, my heart sighs.

He perches at the drop-off, his hands steady on his belay device. Behind him, a thin band of clouds stretches through the pale blue sky like vanilla taffy. A gust of wind blows at his back, fluffing his dark hair forward. He peers over the edge, his face creased in concentration as he plans his descent. And then he lowers over the side, out of sight.

Alone, chilled by our inactivity after the hike, I breathe, hugging my arms around my middle. I review the anchor system in my mind. Replay all the steps we took to ensure it’s safe. The carabiners are locked, the webbing and cord checked for frayed edges or punctures.I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

I check my rappel system for the tenth time, then back toward the edge, my heart fluttering high in my chest and my stomach roiling. That second cup of coffee was not a good idea. Or the spinach bowl. Ugh. I can’t think about food, or I’ll puke. Or cry. It wouldn’t be the first time, but I’m not going to be that girl today. I need to show Jake I’m not some fragile little thing, that I’m worthy of his partnership, his friendship.

I pause at the edge, the rope tight and secure on the anchor, then slowly glance over my shoulder at the smooth apron of pale granite falling away below me for thousands of feet. Thousands of very long, very airy feet.

I gulp a shaky inhale. My fingers clench the rope, and my stomach does that unbearable twist.

I return my focus to the juniper where our triple-backed-up anchor is secured.I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.

I glance back down, forcing myself to acclimate. The river is so small at the base of the valley that it makes a thin white line through trees that resemble fuzzy green dots. Birds soar on thermals hundreds of feet below us. Stepping over this edge requires absolute faith—that the ropes will hold me, my gear won’t fail, and I won’t plummet to my death

Below me, the ropes disappear over a slight bulge, shielding Jake from view.

I take a deep breath, then lean back over the side. My stomach does that sudden whoosh as a gust of wind feathers up my back. No going back now. Moving on autopilot, I slowly loosen my death grip on my belay device, letting it slide through the braking mechanism so that I begin to descend.

By the time I arrive at the ledge where Jake has set up the anchor, the butterflies are settling and the awe and thrill of this amazing place are starting to take over. The breathtaking view of the surrounding cliffs, including El Capitan, several waterfalls, the muted tones of the wilderness, all remind me how lucky I am.

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