Lonely in Lone Pine

I don't solo.

But soloing and bouldering don't appear much different to someone who doesn't rock climb.

And I do boulder, sometimes. Nothing serious, but just enough to have fun and stay in shape when I need to.

In November, Lone Pine, the gateway to Mount Whitney, is transitioning from slow season to absolutely dead season. The hikers are gone, the climbers have moved south, and the seasonal bohemians have gone back to work. So I assumed my brief visit to Lone Pine would be some long-awaited but not-so-needed down time. So my feelings were mixed.

I wandered into the outdoor store in Lone Pine to try on some shoes I've been looking at for a while, kill some time. The owner is from Joshua Tree, and always has some dirtbag climber-types kicking around the shop.

Except for the owner and myself, the shop was empty. Full of gear, begging of grand adventures -- but adventures that are not to come until next season.

Enter young man, climber-type. A very common species, but sightings are rare this time of year. And as all animals do, he sensed the presence of his own type. "Hey, you wanna go bouldering this afternoon?"

"Um, sure! I've got a few things to do. Meet you back here in an hour?"

"Perfect!"

"Okay, see ya!"

So I get my few things to do done and cruise back over to the shop. Dusty roads, the orange glow of backlit granite boulders, and I find myself in a land of bygone westerns and today's would-be Afghanistan: The Alabama Hills. (Known as the filming locale of many old-tyme westerns and most recently, scenes portraying Afghanistan in the movie Ironman.)

Myles had promised to show me some really rad boulders he's scoped in the Hills. Red flag, I can't help but think. Is he just another one of those guys trying to sell the world on all his fantastic finds? Stoked on the climbing just because he runs the show out here? Not to be jaded, but I've found myself lured to many-a-boulder with promises of: "Dude, this is the sickest climb at the Buttermilks. Seriously." Well, okay, I'm sure it's great -- but I'm 5'8" with a wingspan of 5'6" and I don't have a go-go Gadget arm function. Really, I can't reach that hold. And with every world-class climbing area (such as the boulders of Bishop, CA just to the north of Lone Pine), there is a perimeter of offbeat climbers seeking the locals-only hidden gem, or the "next biggest thing" that never will be.

Bouldering can be funny, and sometimes a bit contrived. The sport loses me entirely when it is taken as the ends and not the means. That is to say, to me, it is a way of training for powerful moves on bigger climbs; it is not a sport unto itself. So I don't make big risky moves that threaten to pop out a shoulder or twist an ankle. Then I'd be out of a job! ...Though I suppose I could outfit my crutches with crampon points...

Anywho, Myles shows me his first boulder problem. It starts under a boulder, wraps around the side, and tops out on slopey, gritty holds. I manage to cruise it first try. The top-out was a little junky, but the lower portion was quite stellar. This guy just might have the eye!

The next problem, a long, semi-inverted traverse on patina (the partially-eroded outer layer on some granite rocks which forms very positive holds and super fun climbing). Powerful moves, good holds. I'm still interested.

Around the boulders, he's found more features and linked them up into elegant climbs, finding variations and alternative starts and finishes. He has no idea about ratings, and no interest. He's just looking for the most aesthetic line, interesting, challenging moves, good rock. I can dig it.

The eastern side of the Sierra Nevada is a bit of a throwback to times gone by -- the days of cowboys and pioneers, explorers and mountainfolk. It is perhaps the last place in California where you can turn down a lonely dirt road and find yourself in perfect solitude, with a view worth $200/night out the back of your truck. And those seeking a land of no judgment and anything-goes tend to gravitate here...

We found a beautiful hand crack in a corner. Myles climbed up and I was stemming (using my feet on opposing walls) to the base of it just as a rather round older gentleman wandered our way. He stopped nearby and said, "Now, this I gotta see." And gave an approving grunt.

When I got back down, he was talking animatedly to Myles, saying how his nephew has climbed El Capitan in Yosemite and he just can't imagine, can't even imagine, how anyone can do that. I mean, he said, he'd get scared 5 feet off the ground!

Apparently he thought what we were doing was truly extraordinary, and was impelled to share with us his own stories of death-defying feats of survival.

Growing up in Big Sur, he did a lot of fishing off the coast, scrambling around the rocky seashore, and he was never afraid of anything when he was our age, just like us (um, sir, I wouldn't exactly say I'm some crazy, fearless, gravity-defiant adventurer -- I just like climbing and I am aware of my limits. Really.). One day, he went to leap across something (I didn't really understand what -- I think he was a little stoned), and the ground collapsed beneath him. He found himself sliding. He jumped back and managed to stick to the eroded, moist soil above him. And he never dropped his fishing pole. A true fisherman never lets go of his fishing pole.

But he was panicked, frightened. He shot a songbird once, and as he looked up, he saw one looking down at him from a tree, as if to say, "Hah! Karma!"

But this next part is what really struck me.

He looked all around himself, at the trees and the birds and the waves and the rocks. They were all as they should be. Everything was in order. He was the only one having trouble. And somehow this soothed him. As his panic subsided and his emotion gave way to the reality of his situation, he became angry and determined. Determined to live.

And that's what he did. With 8 fingers, he clawed his way to the top -- for two of those fingers were hanging on to his fishing pole.

I couldn't help but smile. Maybe it was because of his toothless grin and wet, nasal laughter. Or maybe it was the window into human nature he gave me: we are all stars in our own adventure flick. Each person's adventure parameters are a little bit different, but that's not what matters.

Whatever your adventure, it's about matching your own vision of yourself with reality; making it happen, whatever it is.

Day 2 in Adventures with Myles
Myles had another day in Lone Pine before driving to Arizona, and I was going to be kicking around as well the next day. We make plans to climb in the Whitney Portal area. He is immediately excited, and suggests the Womack route. I get the sense he thinks I am stronger and bolder than I am after a day of bouldering with him. I ask what it's rated. We start on No Country for Bold Men. The first pitch is junk, and he's got a line set up that we can jug (read: climbing up a rope with a device fixed to the rope to catch a fall). The second pitch is a 5.10b slab. Then the route diverges onto Womack, and he puts the next pitch at 5.11d, and the fourth at 5.12d.

Holy smokes! There's no way I'm getting up that!

But we decide to try anyway.

I take the slabby pitch, which, unbeknownst to me, turns into some weird squeeze-chimney. I top out with proud scuffs on the back of my left tricep. Squeeze chimneys can often require a certain technique called a "chicken wing." Imagine your arms flapping like a chicken, then stick your elbow above your head and wedge your whole bent arm in a crack about the same thickness as your body. That's the "chicken wing." Super solid when you get it right. Then try moving up on it... It's the type of crack you can't easily fall out of, but can take every ounce of energy to move 6 inches upward.

Myles starts up the second pitch. Some elegant stemming moves in a dihedral, then a delicate move onto the face. He had said he'd never climbed it clean (without falling). He cruises the thing, makes it look easy, even! He shouts with glee at the top and calls down to me: "I'm so glad you're a girl! I was showing off! I wouldn't have sent it if you were a dude!"

This guy is hilarious. It is common for the male in a male-female climbing duo to tend to show off, but rare for him to verbalize it. (Margaret Wheeler, one of the first few American women to be certified by the IFMGA, and president of the AMGA, wrote a very interesting article on gender and decision making called "Backcountry Skiing and Gender." Check it out at http://www.proguiding.com/images/wheelerArticle.pdf)

I set off up it, pulling through more naturally where he had struggled, and struggling myself where he had looked as if he were walking: a common display of the different strengths and weaknesses of male and female climbers.

With a lingering Achilles tendon injury, I was unsure how well I would do with the steepness, slabby footholds, and thin fingertip crack. My tendons felt the burn already from the previous slab, but I was able to climb with only one rest to cool the tendons, and then I fell at the crux (hardest part). Darn. A very impressive lead on his part, and a super fun climb.

By now, my tendons were screaming and the shade was creeping up the wall. Myles headed up the 5.12d pitch with much difficulty after expending all his energy on the clean ascent of the previous pitch. He made a couple attempts at the roof before we had to back off and rappel into the shade, back to our jackets and cars.

A great day of sustained, strenuous climbing, and most importantly, a new friend.