Sean and I snuck a little trip in to Indian Creek. Sadly we missed “Dash Days” the weekend memorial climbing trip for Micah Dash. We found ourselves scrambling to finish chores in Boulder and knew we would not be back. But I did climb some beautiful cracks with him in mind- and his spirit was lingering in the place he loved so well.
The desert worked its magic on me this time. It was a brief trip, but somehow the deep red enveloped me like it did the first time in 1999. We met up with Emily Stifler and a crew of people that only deepened the red. Writers, climbers, old friends, and ones I’ve been trying to get to know for years- gathering as if we’ve been neighbors for 50 years- providing that instant community the climbing life is so good for.
It was a different sort of climbing trip for me being six months pregnant. I was there to soak up some time in flip flops, help Sean decompress from his ski guiding exam (which he passed! yeah!), and get a few rides on top ropes. There was absolutely no agenda. The need to test my fitness on old haunts like Fingers in a Light Socket or Sweden Ringle was so far beyond my purpose. Instead I got to giggle with women, get advice about how to bring my baby to the crag, and maintain a little fitness hauling an extra twenty pounds up five tens.
It was sad to leave. But I was so filled up- realizing at this enormous turn in my life- that I have chosen well to be a climber and that I will never not be one. The people are so good, the activity so fulfilling, and the places so endearing that I have been on an inevitable journey of growth fueled by love and balance, friendship and integrity.
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