The Goodland Journal: Volume Two

I
grew up on a tiny island called
Kaua’i, in the middle of the Pacific
ocean. Rock climbing wasn’t a thing
for me growing up. It wasn’t until years
and years later, in my late twenties, did
I climb my first route. A forty foot route
on top rope, using a static rope, at a
crag in Makapu’u, Hawai’i. It was pretty
sketchy.
Little did I know that a few years
later I’d be topping out on a seven
hundred foot route in Yosemite.
I blinked wearily as we pulled into
the trailhead for Cathedral Peak, in
Yosemite National Park’s Tuolumne
Meadows. It was just after 6AM,
and about twenty seven degrees
Fahrenheit. The air was crisp, even
sharp, as I inhaled. Ahead of us was
what the guidebook said was an hour
and a half approach. Despite having
been awake since 3:30AM, all I could
think was, man, I really love this.
I always wanted to climb something
like Cathedral. It has this air of wildness
to it. Sure, Cathedral Peak isn’t that
wild. Since John Muir did the first
ascent back in 1869, people regularly
climb it in a day and can be back in a
hotel room by the evening. But it was
wild to me. As primarily a bolt-clipping
sport climber, more used to 15 minute
approaches to crags, rather than a
miles long approach to the base of a
mountain, this definitely fell under my
“wild” column.
It was interesting starting my
climbing “career” in a place like
Hawai’i. It’s not a huge sport there,
but it’s definitely growing. I remember
basically learning how to climb by
asking the guys at the only climbing
gear store on the island for some tips.
Add a dash of Youtube and a sprinkle
of asking randos at the crag some
questions, and you have the recipe for
the foundation of my climbing. Not
what I would recommend, by the way,
but that was the reality of the time. I
didn’t learn to climb in a gym; my first
three or four months of climbing was
all outdoors.
It’s not that there wasn’t a gym on
the island. In fact, there were two
at the time. The one I went to was
Volcanic Rock Gym on the east side of
the island. My friend Sean and I would
make our daily pilgrimage to pull on
some plastic in this tiny gym filled with
chalk dust and good people.
As we approached the base of
Cathedral Peak, I stared up at the
imposing wall of granite and I could
start to feel the butterflies flutter in my
stomach. This would be the largest
wall I’ve ever climbed, by a country
mile. One of my climbing partners,
Bodin, led the first few pitches, before
he graciously let me lead the rest of
the way. “This was your idea,” he said
to me, “You should lead.”
Despite some choss, the climbing
was pretty easy and I never felt like I
was ever in any danger.
10 The Goodland Journal Volume Two 11