Page 36 of Free Fall
And I’d answered just like I did now: “I don’t know. We’ll see.” I never went back.
But I fully intend to free solo El Capitan’s Heart Route. I just don’t want a sea of spectators watching me when I do it.
When I reach today’s dyno, I steady myself and consider it. The distance I’ll need to leap is a little farther than what I’ll have to do on Heart Route, which is both good and bad. Good because I know I won’t be practicing under-propelled, but bad because jumping too hard with too much velocity later while on Heart Route could cause me to bounce off the wall, and if I’m free soloing it, fall to my death. So, this isn’t a perfect solution, but getting comfortable with the dyno aspect is key. The roof may be what I’m most afraid of, but that doesn’t mean the dyno isn’t still one of the riskiest parts of the endeavor.
I end up having to let even more climbers pass through as I work on the move repeatedly. I do it thirty times, and I’m wrung-out exhausted by the time I finish. Which I realize, as I start climbing the pitches to the top of the route and make my way over the cliff’s lip to the flat, rocky top, is great because I’m way too tired to worry or obsess anymore about Sejin. All I can think about is how nice it is to stand up and see the view I’ve earned, and how good dinner is going to taste in the van. I even picked up a bag of pork pot stickers from Trader Joe’s earlier in the week, and they’ll taste fantastic fried over an open flame at the campground.
What had I been thinking inviting Sejin over more than once anyway? I’m not here for hookups. I’m here forthis. For training. I need to keep my head screwed on straight and not lose it for the best piece of ass I’ve ever had in my whole fucking life.
I mean truly the best.
Goddamn. So good.
I stretch my arms high and gaze up at the clouds in the blue sky.
So, so,sofucking good.
Is his skin covered in E, and I get high whenever I lick it? Because, Jesus Fucking Christ, he’s addictive. And I really do want to see him smile for me like that picture on the app. Earning a smile that brilliant would be almost as good as sending a 5.15d route for the first time. Maybe better.
Why was his text so—
“Dan.” A familiar voice calls my name, and I turn to see Lowell Moody approaching wearing a harness and an unbuckled helmet. I’m glad I hadn’t seen him at the bottom, or I would have been roped into climbing with him, and then he’d have asked questions. I’m really hoping to avoid a conversation with him about my plans for the season.
Other hikers and climbers lingering around the top of the cliff all move away as Lowell approaches, and I don’t blame them. Lowell is a rough-looking guy. Wiry, skinny, with a messy beard, and weird, golden eyes that seem to glitter in the sun. He’s otherworldly and intimidating. I don’t know how he didn’t scare the victims he rescued as a member of YOSAR. Yosemite Search and Rescue had been his full-time job until his recent retirement after his divorce.
I remember how startled I was when he’d arrived to rescuemeafter I’d gotten stuck up on a ledge with a badly twisted ankle. He’d descended from the top looking like some kind of alien or angel or superhero. I’d thought I was hallucinating. He’s sharp as a knife too, both physically and mentally, not classically handsome in any way, but powerful. I don’t know how else to explain it. He’s just a force of nature and it shows all over his features.
I squint against the sun, taking him in.
His wife leaving did a number on his head. So did his last rescue attempt that’d turned into a heart-wrenching body retrieval. The details are gruesome, and even I felt gutted reading about it, and that sort of thing doesn’t usually affect memuch. He retired from YOSAR shortly after, unable to keep it together on the job or at home. Now he climbs full-time, as far as I can tell. At least he has a house, though, unlike me and Rye, so he still has that semblance of normalcy.
He grips my hand as I say, “Lowell, hey.”
“Enjoying this early-season cool day?”
He releases my hand as I nod, and then his gold eyes shimmer as he stares out into the distance, taking in the view.
I work on collecting my gear, which is more than usual since I’ve been rope soloing. I hook carabiners to loops of rope and square away everything I can in my backpack for the hike out. Lowell is next to me doing the same quietly—which I like—and quickly—which I can respect. He moves faster than I do, a sense of urgency in every twitch of his muscles. I wonder if it’s something innate in him, or something he learned in YOSAR where time is of the essence in most rescues.
We head off together, almost as if we had done the climb as a pair, and I wish Peggy Jo were here so I could say, “Look! I do have a friend. Would someone who isn’t a friend dothis?” Where “this” is hiking down the back side of a mountain with me, and now that I’ve thought that through, it seems like a low bar. But I can’t exactly have high bars for friendship, now can I? Peggy Jo would be the only one to pass. Well, and probably Rye.
“Where are you staying nowadays?” Lowell asks as we near the end of the steeper part of the path.
“In the van. Same as always. Got a camping slot, though.” Which I don’t know how long I’ll be able to afford. I prepaid for the season just to make sure I couldn’t get kicked out, but after that… I’ll have to find some church parking lot to crash out in or something. Churches don’t usually call the cops on you so long as you’re out of their lot by Sunday when the crowds show up. Or maybe I’ll beg a bit of Peggy Jo’s driveway while I decide what to do after I send Heart Route.
“Nice.”
“Eh, it’s all right.”
“Access to showers must be good.”
“Typically I hit this little waterfall near the camp site. The mold and toilet stink get to me in the shower block.”
“Mm, nothing like the fresh, crisp shock of a cold waterfall,” Lowell agrees.
As we continue down the trail, letting casual hikers pass on their way up, I remember having suggested to Sejin that we shower in the waterfall. He’d seemed into the idea at the time, but maybe it’d been too weird for him after all. Had that been the breaking point? The bridge too far?
“If you were seeing someone—” I start.