Throwback Thursday: Flipper Goes Climbing, 2001

Searching for a random file today I came across this, written a little over 16 years ago:

Perched high above the Valley floor, watching avalanches thunder down from the top of Half Dome, I felt Flipper begin to voice its approval by engaging in a vigorous bout of amniotic aerobics. Kick, wriggle, turn, punch, kick, jab, a quick one to the bladder and a full flip. Flipper, age T-zero minus 3 months, was having its first Yosemite wall experience. As was I, Flipper’s mum. 

It seemed like the natural thing to do. After all, Flipper got its start in life during a late summer trip to Tuolumne meadows immediately before an ascent of the Regular Route on Fairview Dome. It had proceeded to get hauled up a number of other routes in Tuolumne, Yosemite Valley and Joshua Tree over the next few months, despite a combination of bad weather and first trimester exhaustion. However, these factors had stymied plans to try wall climbing. When energy levels returned to near normal at the beginning of the year, my husband Alistair casually suggested that we try a “small wall” together – climb up Washington’s Column as far as Dinner Ledge and bivy there before descending the next day. My initial reaction was “Great - what pitches could I lead?”, being keen to try aid climbing. This was shortly followed by “Damn, baby on board, no leading for me”. Waiting for a suitable break in the weather, the weeks slid by, the harness grew ever tighter, and the gym routes seemed to get steeper and steeper. Finally, spring arrived and, with approximately 0.5mm room left in my harness, it was now or never.

Despite Al carrying the lion’s share of gear, the approach hike seemed harder than it should have. Total weight of pack plus pregnancy poundage wasn’t more than a good sized backpack, and I had blithely assumed that it would be equivalent. I couldn’t have been more mistaken. A good sized backpack is not generally in need of oxygenation and does not get in the way when you are trying to take a high step. After arriving at the base of the 4^th class approach pitch, we decided to play it safe, and Al clambered on up with the Piglet (our very small homemade haulbag) and belayed me up to the start of the climb proper. 

Alistair led up the first 5.8 pitch and started hauling while I started jugging [pulling myself up using ascending devices]. I had decided to simply jug to the ledge rather than climb as apart from the first pitch, all were beyond my bump-encumbered free-climbing capability. The Piglet being mini-sized, I was also carrying a backpack with the remaining gear. Thus, a relatively simple pitch became a major struggle. Despite having jugged without problem previously, nothing seemed to quite work this time. On the less than vertical terrain, my feet would slip out of the webbing footsteps, and my expanding girth made repositioning them quite a task. The backpack pulled me back when I tried to pull up. The whole experience reminded me of a route description in the Vedauwoo guidebook: “Make sure there ain’t no church ladies strolling by when you hop on this grunter”. Grunt, I did, and sweat and curse. Copiously.  After Herculean effort, I lay like a beached whale on the ledge at the top of the first pitch, listening to Al tell me that the next pitch was much more strenuous. Having just been instructed by my doctor to take things a little easier, carrying on seemed potentially foolhardy, but I didn’t want to retreat either. The ledge seemed perfectly adequate for one of my main goals before committing to motherhood:  a wall bivy.  We decided to spend the night there.

At the top of pitch 1 with Flipper on board

The afternoon was spent in idyllic sloth under a warm California sun. Flipper flipped, while its Dad and I lolled about admiring the glorious scenery and watching the canyon wrens diving around our perch. Dinner was accompanied by last light on Half Dome and a veritable bird party swooping about our heads. Magical and memorable. From time to time small showers of pebbles would rain down from above where parties were topping out over the last loose pitch of the Column, and we would pull on our helmets and hunker in against the rock to avoid the barrage. 

A fine spot for reading a book

Dinner time- just mind the rocks coming down!

The night was mild and starlit, and much to my surprise, I slept well, waking only occasionally to have a look at the view by moonlight.

After an excellent night's sleep

 A 5am raid by the resident ring-tailed cat ensured an authentic bivy. The little bastard chewed a gaping hole in the pack and made off with our breakfast bagels. Oh well, it was time to head down anyway – normally, I detest the level of development in the Valley, but I had to admit that the breakfast buffet only an hour away from the ledge was pretty damned convenient. As I hoed into an enormous plate of artery-clogging sausage, eggs, bacon, hashbrowns and all the attendant trimmings, I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face. Al was looking somewhat embarrassed at only having managed to get one pitch off the deck, but to me, it was the perfect climbing adventure.

Three and a half months later, as I am writing this, Flipper still hasn’t choosen to show itself. The due date has come and gone and the waiting is on in earnest. All bets are on amongst friends and family for the age of the child when it is first taken up a cliff in a backpack. Al harbors fond hopes that some day, he or she will be leading Dad up 5.11s in his retirement. They say that you can influence a child’s nature by what you do to them in utero – perhaps this trip was one step in that direction.

May 2017 update: 

What a time of innocence May 2001 was in so many ways. The possibilities, the dreams. We could never have imagined the path ahead, perched on that not-so-high ledge. Just a few short months later, terrorists would attack the US and a part of that innocence would vanish forever. 

Flipper arrived nearly 2 weeks late. We named her Tenaya, reflecting her Yosemite roots of course. Tenaya papaya. Years of love and pain, pain and love. Tenaya, capricious as a New Zealand spring day, in turn bright and sparkling, blustering, storming, sullen, then brilliantly sunny once more. A force of nature. A compact parcel of puzzling contradiction, seething with unrealized potential, fragile wings straining to burst forth, absolute certainty mixed with crippling self-doubt. Railing against parental direction, a teenage tempest (does she know how much she is loved?).

It doesn't look like Al will get his wish about being led up the cliff by his daughter; that is not her thing, despite countless outdoor experiences. That's OK, she is forging her own strong-minded path. One day she will change this world.