On leading//being bold- Part 1

2015 was the year I decided I didn't want to follow any more.

I wish I could say it's easy, but usually, it's fucking terrifying.

The thing is, people eventually become habituated to whatever stimulus they are experiencing. If you keep shocking yourself, eventually you have to up the voltage to feel pain. Keep breaking down the muscle and you get stronger. The stuff that you used to be too weak to overcome, you can now move through with ease. Or, at least you can move through it.

You keep moving. You make a plan and you keep moving.

I'd say there were several key events that occurred in the past year that caused me to galvanize:

The bottom falling out on my life at the end of 2014
A strange trip to Peru
Finding a committed climbing partner- Adam
Finding compatible climbing partners- Amber and Dave
Leading the Pearly Gates with Dave
City of Rocks with Gabriel in June
Smith Rock with randoms
Deciding not to commit to climbing school this year
Quitting my job

There were also several events that occurred in the past year that caused me to temper my desire to lead and to progress at a slower pace:

Broken Top
Leading Norma's Book and Juniper Jam with Ben
Deaths in the family
Prolonged sickness and loss of strength
The realization that progress is not always linear.

I've always been the kind of person to set aggressive goals for myself and throw myself into whatever I am doing. Restraint is not something I have a surplus of. I was the only non-theatre major in and only female student period to design the set for a mainstage theatre production at my university. My first year out of college, I had my name on over 15 Portland area theatre productions and landed a full time job painting sets for broadway productions. I forced myself to read dozens of business books after work and landed a design contract at the third largest theatre in Portland at the age of 22. At 23, I was the youngest person inducted into my local union, and I made the jump from local theatre to working on national television.

2014 was a banner year for me. At 26, I was renting a warehouse in north Portland to build my sets, I worked on three tv shows, and a movie. I also took a basic mountaineering class, and in addition to working, I summited 10 peaks during climbing season. I probably would have thrown myself into intermediate climbing school right away if I hadn't been called to work on a TV pilot in Washington State that autumn. And my long term boyfriend and I bought a house that summer. We put in a garden. I was looking at golden retriever breeders with the intention of having a puppy early 2015. Checking off all the boxes right there.

The problem with rapidly progressing forward is that you can easily have blinders on. You get locked into this idea that progress is linear. You get the nickname Photon at work, and when everyone is telling you that you're unstoppable, you start believing it. In October of 2014, the long term relationship fell apart and my life began to shatter. My grandmother died shorty after that and I fell into a lonely pit of depression that I've been crawling out of ever since.

I really thought that progress was always forward. You take one climbing class, then you take another climbing class, then you take an advanced climbing class and then you are a "real legit climber" and can lead group climbs for your organization. You get the boyfriend, then you move into the apartment, then the house, then the puppy comes along and you're always happy and satisfied and in love and everything is magic rainbows. You get the dream job, then the next dream job and everyone wants you, then you get promoted to foreman on the dream job, then you make the jump to art director, then production designer. And it all magically works out.

But... it doesn't.

I went to Peru at the tail end of 2014. The anniversary/birthday/Christmas present/awesome lovers outing that was planned turned into Sarah wandering around the Andes mountains by herself for a couple weeks. Well, Sarah by herself and four men she didn't know- two cooks, and a livestock handler who only spoke Quechua; as well as a guide who spoke some English. I've never been handled with such kid gloves. The men heard my ex wasn't coming along and in classic, over-the-top Latin man style, they handled me with EXTREME caution, as if I would burst apart into a million tears at the slightest upset. I had to sneak into the mule's packs every day to pull out stuff to carry in my pack. Hiking up to 15,200 feet was not difficult. It was well within my ability and I wanted more. All that time alone made me realize that I had the physical ability to climb local mountains like Rainier- but I needed a plan.

As hard as the time alone in Peru was, I came back with motivation to get myself into proper leading shape. And by that, I mean I want to lead a climb up Mt Rainer under my own power. Not tomorrow, or necessarily next year, but in the near future. And why stop there? I decided that I wanted to lead my own climbs on rock and snow and I was going to do it.

Let me be the first to tell you that is no small task.

I made a list of the skills and experience I would need to lead Rainier and also the skills I would need to lead low to moderate grade alpine rock. Boy howdy did I have my work cut out for me. But a goal is a place to start. I decided I would spend 2015 on getting comfortable leading on rock and then the first half of 2016 getting strong, continuing to lead as much as possible, and also dial in the snow skills needed for Rainier.

In order to lead on alpine rock, I would need to learn how to place gear, build anchors, multipitch climbing practices, how to perform self-rescue, how to lead sport climbing, become physically strong enough to lead climb with a rack on for multiple pitches, by physically capable enough to be steady and controlled for multiple pitches of climbing a day, gain the clarity of mind and confidence to lead climb in the gym, and be able to confidently top-rope 5.11s at my local gym.

The first step to all of this was top roping at the climbing gym, getting strong enough and learning basic technique. A stranger on the internet said they were looking for a consistent partner 3-4 days a week and were willing to train someone as long as they actually showed up. I took the bait, feeling confident that my basic mountaineering class and reread of Freedom of the Hills would keep me safe in the gym.

You get tired quickly when you first start climbing. Overhanging 5.7s are HARD, hell, 5.7s in general were hard. And you do all the stupid things- shoes too big, overuse of hands, under use of legs, poor hip position. But a safe belay and proper communication must always be there. Often, I went home with torn open fingers to read the Mountain Project pages for Dragontail Peak, Colchuck Peak, Three Fingered Jack, The Tooth, Unicorn Peak, Mt Shuksan, and The Forbidden-Torment Traverse-- all climbs that I will lead one day- as soon as I'm ready. My initial progress was slow, but eventually I started to figure it out. I think by the end of January, with the help of a "dynamic belay" I top roped my first 5.10. By the end of February, my partner and I were doing 20-40 route sessions on the weekends and I could consistently flash 5.10-s.  On March 8th, 2015, I led my first outdoor sport route, a 5.7 route called 'Bunny Face' at Smith Rock. Awesome, inspiring, and a little scary clipping the last bolts. But no one else is going to clip them for you, or put that rope up in the first place, you have to lead it yourself.

I would like to point out that at this point, I found a really amazing climbing partner, and progress really started to happen. Amber-- a friend-of-a-friend, radical feminist, smart geologist, lover of pizza, goofball extraordinaire, attentive belayer, and ambitious climber -- would hit the gym with me almost every weeknight. We made rapid progress in strength and stamina. It was Amber who got me to really see the fun in sport leading "that feeling you have when every muscle in your body is in perfect tension and control and you spring out, like a panther, to get that hold just out of but within your reach, but you miss and fall back into this world, or, you stick it, and it's just the best thing ever! " Climbing frequently with another woman was the biggest boost to my confidence I've ever had. Amber is stronger than me and more experienced with climbing in general, but I had the mad desire to get outside as quickly as possible and had done more outside climbing than her- though 90% of it was following along a fixed line on easy scrambling. We would practice multipitch climbing, anchor building, and rescue techniques out in the tree in my backyard. Some weeks we would wear weight vests and just climb laps and laps on the easy stuff. We were always learning- safety and progress were our goals, fun was had in excess; and after climbing chats about feminism over pizza were just really affirming. It's great to know you what you can achieve with your own power.

By mid-May, I was feeling strong and the weather was good. My mountaineering partner Dave and I had been getting comfortable with each other on the easy stuff around Portland-- with a couple adventures along the way. The first time I really had to self arrest on steep snow made me very glad for the safety training I'd gotten with the Mazamas. It's not a skill you want to have to use, but knowing that your reflexes and muscle memory are on point is important. An untested person is a liability. I'd been making a few attempts up the south side of Mt Hood with buddies, but we kept turning around due to wind or icefall. I felt confident in my ability to find the route, and had 6 months practicing navigating with my altimeter and Dave's GPS, so we felt that confident that this route was within our ability. There were numerous reports that the Pearly Gates were in season this year- I was keen to try out a new route and push myself.

Dave hadn't climbed Mt Hood before, so this would be my lead. More responsibility, more at stake, and I would have to rise to the occasion. We were blessed with great weather and snow conditions and made decent progress up to the Hogsback, where we decided what route we would take to the summit. A large group was heading up the Mazama Chute and we didn't want to be behind them, so the Pearly Gates it was. This route had us hike up a moderately steep snow slope and into an icy gully to the summit. I was in front and when I looked behind me, it felt like the entire world was down there-- we had transcended into some other plane of existence. To the right of me, the large group was still heading up the chute, following their leader. I momentarily wished to be in that group and have a leader to guide me, but I knew our way was up the icy gully, and taking my second tool in hand, began to make my way up. There was some rotten ice and rock in there, not a place you wanted to hang out for long. The way was up, have faith in your training and physical ability. Your crampons have twelve points of contact, you have two tools, you're not going to fall, the way is up, you have to make it up because your partner needs to make it up and you both need to make it down. These were the thoughts that propelled me. Gaining the summit was physical work, but that feeling of pride and happiness and relief when you top out is AMAZING. Wow, what a view. What a beautiful world we live in! Wow, the sky is BLUE up here!!! This climb was the first time in my limited climbing career where I left like I actually accomplished something. It's incredibly empowering to lead a climb under your own power, to push yourself just outside your comfort zone

Bolstered by this success, Dave and I started planning our future climbing adventures. It became very clear to me that learning the basics of trad was priority #1. So was learning how to ski mountaineer, and take a WFR class, and do more navigation work, and and and.

And you can't do it all at once, all the time. Might as well have some fun while you can.

I had a couple weeks off before my next work gig started in July, so I did what any able-bodied twenty-something with no social life, real responsibilities, a boatload of depression, and escapist tendencies would do-- I contacted a long-lost friend out in the desert and asked him if he wanted to go on a climbing trip. For some miraculous and insane reason, my college buddy Gabe decided he would spend a week rock climbing with me out in Southern Idaho, on the fantastic granite that is City of Rocks and Castle Rocks. Turns out Gabe had no fear of climbing with me because Gabe crushes all the rocks and makes everything vertical and rock-like into an altar devoted to worshiping his fantastic climbing prowess.

Once again, a big thank you is owed to my previous mentors and Freedom of the Hills for getting me into some kind of rudimentary physical/mental shape to not completely fail that week and actually excell. The most very basics of rock climbing had been hammered into my head through the Mazamas for the past year and outdoor exposure was something I was relatively comfortable with, Amber and I had spent enough afternoons in the tree practicing anchor building and basic multipitch technique that I was confident in my knots and rope management, and six months of hitting the climbing gym four times a week with Adam and Amber had gotten me strong. I was in prime shape to be an information sponge for my first trad mentor, Gabe.

I'm lucky that Gabe wasn't crazy, either.

One of the things I really respect about Gabe is that he's a writer. 98% of climbers are computer scientists/engineers/lawyers/doctor dudes. It's rare to find another focused, driven artist who understands the need to make art, the necessity to sell it, and also really loves to get outside and climb. Usually those dudes with the safe jobs like to ask me what my backup plan is.

The other thing I respect about Gabe is his drive. The fact that he decided he was going to learn how to climb and he learned how to climb. It's that simple but it's also not. For a total newb who comes from the institutional background of "take all the classes, always be cautious, wait until someone else tells you can climb that, why climb the fast/hard way when you can do the easy route?", it was so great and refreshing to hear the simple words "you want to lead? Go do it". It was like I needed permission to step into my own skin.

I spent a good part of the week seconding Gabe and leading some sport routes. We got a pretty decent volume of climbing in. I led my first 5.9 sport routes and sort of kind of took my first outdoor falls. Good times. I also learned what seconding 5.9 crack climbing felt like... less good times. One late afternoon and one beer in over dinner, Gabe looks at me and says "why don't we just go back to Window Rock right now? What do want to lead over there?" He said it so easily that I thought maybe he really was insane, but he followed up by saying that I was strong and seemed mentally ready, so if I don't do it now, when was I planning on doing it?

I start chugging water and decide that Pure Pleasure, a 5.6 route I had seconded earlier in the week, would be achievable. Gabe ordered another beer.

We drove out to window rock in the early evening sunlight. Days are long this far north in high summer. I rack up and put all 8 million of Gabe's cams on my harness. Gabe asks me if I would like him to clip the random bolt that's 16' up the slab. I decline the offer and get it myself.

Away I go, plugging gear every 4 feet into a perfect hand crack that runs 70' to the ledge I will build an anchor. It's a good thing Gabe climbs at Indian Creek and has 8 million cams, I think I used 4 #2s at least. Then it's time for the anchor. And it's time for the anchor. I'd spent weeks building practice anchors in Oregon and at the City, but I'd never been lowered 70' off an anchor that I built until that evening. To say it took me a while is an understatement. Gabe asked me if I was ready to lower. I said sure, I guess. He asked me how many pieces were in my anchor. I said four. "Yeah, at least one of those will probably hold" I thought for sure I was going to die a horrible death and everyone back home would laugh over my grave saying how stupid I was, but my anchor held, Gabe felt confident seconding on my anchor (it was a 5.6 after all) and then rapped off the chains. He said my placements were good. Achievement unlocked.

The big lesson I took away from that trip with Gabe was if I wanted to do something, I just had to go out and do it. Make a plan of course, but at the end of the day, if you do nothing, you're just standing with your toes on the edge, eventually you have to jump in.

So I jumped in.

Gabe also gave me his spare copy of Self-Rescue for Rock Climbers and told me to memorize it. I'm glad I did.

The week after City of Rocks, I met up with some guys from Mountain Project and spent the week climbing at Smith Rock. I volunteered my local knowledge, guidebook and car camping setup in exchange to second for some burly east coast guys out on holiday. These dudes climbed hard. All three of them were tall, muscle-y, and had well-paying jobs/hot girlfriends back home. A single, tattooed, 20-something lady climber who just wants to lead 21 pitches of 5.7 trad in a day is definitely the odd one out in this group. Off the rock, we didn't have much in common, and at times I felt like a belay slave. But those dudes led classic, hard stuff, and I got to try my luck at forcing myself up routes I won't be able to lead any time soon.

This was the trip I learned about rage-climbing. About failing and falling and being weak. About working through the weakness because you have to, because you're strong enough and it's just mental weakness. Always accept the offer to top-rope a route, there's always something you can learn. Breathe. By day four, the dudes were tired, I conned one of them into climbing the five pitch sport route, Wherever I May Roam (5.9) with me. I was in the best climbing shape I'd ever been in, and the climbing was mostly easy. I led pitch 3, which is noted for being particularly airy. While starting off into the vertical abyss, I remembered a sticker I'd seen on an older lady's helmet back in Idaho, the sticker said "spread your legs and trust the rubber". Clip after clip, I repeated that mantra, occasionally doing the math to see how many clips I had still to make, until eventually I was at the anchor. Thank goodness! And wow, what a climb! Leading 5.9 is not the worst thing in the world after seconding 5.10ds all week. The fear sweats were in full force, for sure, and I learned a lot about what I'm made of on that pitch. Definitely one of my proudest leads of the year.

We finished the climb but not without incident. We rapped off one of the wrong anchors halfway down, and I had to use the skills I'd learned in Gabe's Self-rescue book to get us out of the mess. I remembered to take a second a breathe, then asses the situation. I was hanging in space, a couple hundred feet off the ground, and the knots at the ends of my rope were four feet below me. The nearest anchor was maybe twenty feet down. We had thrown our rope over the wrong flake of rock. I had to ascend my rope, clip into a bolt on the wall, and then whip the rope over the flake to rappel to the correct anchor.

Always know your escape plan.

The final two things that increased my faith in myself this year were the decision not to commit to climbing school and the decision to quit my job. In many ways, these decisions are basically the same decision made in two different areas of my life. For much of life, I've felt I need to do things the "right way" or the "safe way" or the "correct way". That doesn't really exist. Many people were telling me to take climbing school because that's what they were doing, or what they did, or it's what I should do. I had spent time this year in a great outdoor leadership class where many of the participants encouraged me to step up and lead in the outdoor community and that is totally awesome. More than one person, and especially a guy I was dating, told me time and time again that I should be a Mazama climb leader. I started to believe that and thought that the way to do so would be to take class after class and then it would just happen.

No.

It feels claustrophobic when everyone is telling you what you should do. If all your friends are taking the climbing class, obviously you should as well... even if all you really want to do right now is become a better rock climber?

Not necessarily. And I don't mean this with any disrespect to the Mazamas, but I just wasn't at a point where I could make a commitment to a very long and demanding class. Too much of this year has been about finding myself and my strength, I just wasn't ready to give that new-found independence away. Climbing class will always be there, and there will always be opportunities to step up in my community, but before I step up and give my energy away, I need to consolidate myself.

With work, I'd landed an awesome job and had been doing the same awesome job for five years. There's nothing wrong with doing that particular awesome job, but the awesome job had very long hours and the physical work was becoming concerning. I'd rather destroy my rotator cuff climbing than holding a paint gun. The awesome job I had allowed me to grow into an adult and learn the value of hard work. It allowed me to build a nice life for myself, and that that life was destroyed fall 2014. Time to give up the ghost. If I changed nothing about my situation, I would be exactly where I am now a year from now. Stop standing with your toes on the edge, jump in.

Right now, I just want to climb. I want to get better and stronger and lead more. I want to be confident in my strength and ability. I want to fail more and learn where I am lacking. I want to be really strong and crush stuff because it is affirming and awesome and it feels really good.



And know that lead climbing is a metaphor for all other aspects of life, too.




The second part of this essay deals with tempering boldness and will discuss the lessons I have learned this year that remind me to take it easy. Boldness alone is not enough. You need experience and wisdom- things gained over time. 

A dying dog is not a fate I would wish on my worst enemy.

Grieving when you don't know how, when it's for the life you wish you could have had and never will

All my life I wanted a puppy. Throughout my childhood, we moved around frequently, never staying in a place more than three or four years at a time. Moving that often as a kid was not easy, and I imagine very difficult for my parents. Though it was scary and often lonely to start all over in a new corner of the country, my brother and I learned how to adapt to new situations, make friends quickly, be independent, and we learned the value of our own friendship. Henry and I were always close as children and remain so to this day, I've always know he has my back. We were exposed to many regions with different cultures, prejudices, geography, dominant religions, and mannerisms.  Ranging from the safe affluent suburbs of the Bay Area that are relative multicultural utopias to the industrial-scale corruption, racism, and poverty of New Orleans, we were exposed to a rich cross section of the country.

It's lonely when you're always on the run.

As a child, I would envy other kids and their multi-year friendships. It's hard when you never feel like you belong anywhere or have any control over where you'll end up next. Sometimes it didn't always feel like it was worth the effort to make new friends and try again. I wished for closer cousins to play with, for long-term friends who wouldn't see me as an outsider. The wish to belong to a group, to be loved, and some semblance of permanence manifested itself in a desire for a puppy.  A friend who would always be there and wouldn't judge you for not giving a crap about Texas football.

A canine member of the family was never in the cards for us. Various gerbils, hamsters, reptiles, and cockatiels came in and out of our life, always separated by a wall of glass or wire. We loved them, but you can't take a hamster to the beach. An iguana doesn't want a hug. Good luck teaching a turtle fetch. There's no affection on a gerbil's face when you come home after school.

I developed a fantasy in my mind for what stability and life should look like. My desire for permanence and control of my life became a desire to belong somewhere and to have a dog. Of course it's imperfect and flawed, but it's what happened.

In 2014, my long-term boyfriend and I were looking into golden retriever breeders. We had just moved into a house, I had a good job, the timing seemed right. I also was operating on the flawed belief that a puppy would magically make a dead-end relationship viable and teach us the magic of love, hard work, exercise, and bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. I was projecting my childhood fantasy onto an already broken relationship thinking that a puppy would be the magical fix-it that would save everything.

The relationship fell apart, of course, and thankfully. The future family house became an empty barren place, a prison of sorts, a manifestation of failed... everything. A single woman with a job, no local friends, too many responsibilities, and a boatload of depression couldn't raise a puppy on her own. Time to give up the ghost.

Months wear on, you find new outlets, decide it's time you do something about the listlessness inside, and slowly build a new world for yourself. But if you're being honest it's mostly coping mechanisms and distractions. In the scheme of things, rock climbing and vegan chocolate chip cookies are pretty good coping mechanisms, so that's an improvement. What the hell, you're already at lonely messed-up rock bottom, why not get a dog?  Of course you have to revise "the Dream" irrational Miracle Puppy can't happen because you're to afraid to take the plunge by yourself. You lower your expectations and look into adopting adult dogs.

You don't have faith in yourself or ability to do anything right so you talk to "professionals" to dog rescues that foster animals in people's homes. They have to know what's best. Somehow, you get sold on a sweet dog who is ten years old. Of course he's the nicest thing. Housebroken, not destructive, quiet, loves hugs. So easy. He makes the empty house start to feel like home. You can't help but love him. But he's ten. A ten-year-old dog won't be here long. Turns out he has severe arthritis and you can't take him along on the 45 minute hikes to your favorite climbing spots that the rescue organization told you he could go on. Now your friend becomes a burden, you're struggling to find a dog sitter every weekend or give up climbing. And pushing yourself climbing is honestly the only thing that's really keeping you sane these days. Literally stuck between the rock and a hard place.

Life goes on. You make a series of compromises, You do the best you can. Eventually, you have to put the ten-year-old dog you love so dearly to sleep. He was in your life for less than six months and now you know a new level of grief and guilt and emptiness.

But you're bolder now, you're stronger than you were a year ago. The grief and guilt and depression and loneliness and self-hatred isn't so bad anymore. You're finding your voice and that's honestly really fucking awesome. You've learned some lessons. There are things you will and won't compromise on now. And you decide fuck it, it's time for another dog, and I'm really going to go for it this time. You begin the search for a young, active, trainable dog that you can take climbing.

Shelter dogs are not easy to raise. Puppies are not easy to raise. Generally, training dogs to be well-behaved and accompany you in public is not a simple task. It's foolish to assume that a puppy or shelter dog will come pre-programmed with trained behavior. It's foolish to assume that you can trust any new animal. When I met a small black lab in a local shelter, I knew I had a challenge ahead of me, but I was hopeful.  I saw a young girl who needed more exercise and structure in her life, and honestly, that reminds me of myself- a wayward lady who needs direction and can never have enough exercise.

We made leaps and bounds with obedience training. It's really been a pleasure to share your days with a vital little bundle of manic dog energy. The joy of youth, happiness, and adventure is contagious. But never for a moment think it's easy. The theme with my life has been as soon as I get lulled into thinking I've got it figured out, it all comes crashing down.

The more you open your heart again to love, the more of yourself becomes vulnerable to pain. The little puppy that represented so much promise and hope ate a bottle of Aleve and needs IV fluids, she screams when you insert the needle. Late at night her breathing becomes labored and hoarse, you call the emergency vet but options are grim. The next morning, you leave her behind at the animal hospital and come home shattered.

Wandering through the streets of your neighborhood you feel aimless again. The listlessness is back. A phone call from the vet brings hope-- you are not out of the woods yet, but there's some silver light around the dark clouds in your mind.

Now she's home in a puddle on the couch. Hopped up on a cocktail of drugs and a special diet. You have to hold her mouth open while you spoon-feed her. She hates it, you hate it. You're not sure if this was a freak accident or a sign from some higher power that you're destined to be a failure for life. Well-meaning friends and family don't hesitate to share their disconnected and unwelcome advice. The days become a monotonous trudge of medication, waiting, and a creeping sense of dread.

You come to realize that it doesn't matter what you wanted in the past, you're stuck in this present moment and you have to do the best with what you have.

First Post

Reflections in City of Rocks, ID.

Life is rich and should be savored. There are so many tales of adventure, woe, sadness, joy, love, and desperation that are worth recording. That is what this blog is for.

More to come,

-S