Chuck Dreams of Climbing El Capitan

        When we arrive at Yosemite National Park, we know nothing about mountain climbing. Well, I know one thing--it is a wickedly dangerous sport. A sport, I assume, for daredevils or thrill seekers. Can you hear the judgment in my words?Let me put it this way--if you pay me, I wouldn't attempt to climb a mountain.

        So what are the chances when we arrive in California--that our guide will be a bonafide, professional mountain climber? Who eats, sleeps, and talks incessantly about climbing mountains. He married a mountain climber. His friends were mountain climbers. He read books about mountain climbing. And he carried mountain climbing equipment in his car, just in case a mountain popped into view that he suddenly felt compelled to climb.

        Jeff Crow is so into mountain climbing he almost had us convinced that maybe it isn't such a crazy idea, after all. A few days before--as part of our panoramic view--we'd seen two famous cliffs that mountain climbers were drawn to--Grand Sentinel and North Dome and marveled at how high they were. He explains at that very moment there are climbers hanging onto their granite surface. Those little black dots we see with our binoculars from where we stand are actually human beings. 

        But the best is yet to come. We are on our way to see El Capitan, which is super famous, so famous that it makes a serious mountain climber like Jeff go bananas just to see it. His mouth literally begins to water because El Capitan is 3000 vertical feet of sheer rock formation and presents one of the greatest challenges to mountain climbers. More about that in a moment . . .

   

        First we were lucky enough to pass some of the most recognized Yosemite National Park scenes, the ones painted the most often by artists. Besides El Capitan, there is Half Dome:

        And Bridal Veil Falls:

         Finally, we come to El Capitan. Seeing it in person takes your breath away, especially when you realize that someone actually was able to climb it from bottom to top. Nerves of steel? Obviously.

         When someone climbs a mountain, they don't show up for the day and do it. They spend months, sometimes years in preparation. There is the grueling physical training, the need to get your body in shape, the same as a runner who has to run hundreds of miles before he attempts the marathon. There is the no how of how to climb a mountain, ie. the technique. Mountains do not come with stairs that you climb. With your body pressed up against an often flat surface, you must reach for that tiny crevice and pull yourself up. There is the correct equipment, which you hope doesn't break when you're thousands of feet from the earth. And, finally, there is the strategizing sometimes of each and every step you need to take--to find the secret passageway--to assail the mountain. 

        Mountain climbers often share with other mountain climbers the "road maps" they have developed when they've made successful climbs of certain peaks, outlining the best approach and how to tackle the most difficult areas.

        We are encouraged by Jeff to watch a documentary called Free Solo about an autistic climber named Alex Honnold who free soloed El Capitan (meaning he climbed it with no ropes). Remember, El Capitan is a 3000 vertical feet of sheer rock formation in Yosemite. So far, Alex has been the only climber to have climbed it free style. Others have tried and not lived to tell about it. 

        Hearing Jeff describe his various exploits on the mountain. Watching Free Solo. Examining some of the mountain climbing equipment. And getting up close and personal to one of the mountains--no, not El Capitan, but I can imagine what it would be like to face what looks like a sheet of granite in front of you. There are nooks and crannies that your fingertips feel but even from a short distance away, they're hard to see. Trust me, climbing up a surface like that seems almost impossible. 

        That evening as the sun sets, we stand close to the surface of one particular mountain side. Jeff is busy explaining how he would attack the surface and what equipment he would use. For the life of me, I can't see a single place where I could even put my pinky finger to grab hold and hoist myself off the ground. 

        I glance over at Chuck, who looks interested in the mountain. You never can tell with cats. He seems lost in a kind of trance, but he's looking at the mountain. His head tilts and he isn't angling for snacks so that is a good sign. 

        Don't worry, I tell myself, there's no chance Chuck can climb this surface! 

        My feeling of content is short lived, however. Jeff launches into another mountain story, but this one, believe it or not, is about how climbers discovered baby cats half way up El Capitan. 

        "What? How did they get there?"

         He shook his head. "Nobody knows."

         That is one story I don't need to hear. I can almost hear the music of doom they play in the movies.

        We are lucky to be staying for two nights at The Ahwahnee, an upscale historic hotel in Yosemite National Park. Built in 1927, it is a beautiful hotel. The granite facade, log beamed ceilings, stone hearths, stained glass, and tapestries harken back to the 1930's Art Deco and Arts and Crafts Movement. 

        We love our room.

    

   

        There is even a room plaque that tells the room's history:

        But the best part is the view. The Ahwahnee is located near Half Dome. You can see the mountain if you take a walk after dinner.  

        But you can also see Half Dome from the window in our room. Chuck discovers this before I do. He is perched on the wide sill of our window gazing out. Daydreaming. Staring at the mountain. Listening to the tweeting birds. 

             "Chuck, are you dreaming about climbing that mountain?"

        I remember the sequoia he leaped on and tried to climb. The palm tree he somehow managed to scale. Heck, the Christmas tree at home that he was often on top of. He seems to have the climbing gene in his blood.

        He lets out a little squeak.

        "Thought so."

        He turns to look at me.

        "That was some story that Jeff told today about those cats. Do you think you'll ever grow up to be a mountain climber?"

        No answer.

        "But everybody can dream."

        Chuck lets out a soft meow, one of those sweet meows with such longing in it I feel that one day Chuck will grow up to be the first mountain climbing cat in the world to reach the top. I can see it now:

        Headline: Rascal Chuck Climbs El Capitan.

        I am lost in my daydream. Chuck is lost in his. Suddenly, Chuck jumps down and scoots over to my backpack.

        I don't have to ask what Chuck wants. It doesn't take much to keep the rascal cat happy. A snack or two before he shuts down for the night. Then a hug. And a new adventure for tomorrow.

Chuck Sleeps with General Grant

    California is a hard state to leave when you're on vacation!

    We were still obsessed--or rather I was still obsessed--with the giant sequoia and redwood trees. Seeing them. Breathing them in. We decided to pay a visit to Kings Canyon National Park and see one more famous giant sequoia. If you remember the General Sherman tree, this next tree was second only to that tree in trunk size. This Tree #2 on the Hit Parade of BIG TREES was estimated to be 1700 years old (can you imagine?) and was named after the great Civil War general and president Ulysses S. Grant.

   I know what you're thinking.

    Rascal Chuck did not have a good track record with giant sequoias. But he'd learned his lesson when he'd gotten stuck on the spongy bark of General Sherman. I was convinced Chuck could look and not climb the great General Grant.

    Plus, we had a ways to go before we reached General Grant and that journey involved a lot of walking. I was hoping the exercize would tire Chucky out. He would lose some of his rambunctiousness! Fingers crossed. 

    We first had to hike through glorious country to reach Roaring River Falls. The weather was in the low seventies. Despite the fires that were raging in parts of Yosemite National Park, up here in the Sierra Mountains the air was crisp and clear and there were no signs of smoke. 

    We traced the falls as they cascaded and broke along the rocks and wound along the river bed. Pure heaven. Maybe, for the first time, I understood, a cat's need to sniff. It's their way of interacting with nature. Here, near Roaring River Falls, you could taste the sweetness when you pulled that refreshing mountain air into your lungs.

    

    The riverbed water eventually dropped forty feet to a pool below, comprised almost completely of snowmelt from the mountains that ran through the canyons.  

   

    We then passed Kings River and the surrounding granite cliffs including two of the most famous. The first was named Grand Sentinel, and it measured 8,518 feet high. 

    

    The second equally famous structure was North Dome measured 8,717 feet high. 

     None of what we saw in the distance was of any interest to Chucky. He was focused on the trail that we walked and on the trees that surrounded us as we headed back to see General Grant. If he couldn't sniff it, he didn't want to know about it. 

    Finally, we reached out destination. There General Grant stood in all its glory in a fenced-in area, of course, so visitors won't stomp too close or touch the wonderful spongy bark (which makes these sequoias so impervious to insect attack or fire, but gives them that other world appeal). 

    

       I glanced down at Chuck, who was acting like a model cat. For the moment. I pointed to the fence. "Forbidden zone. Remember what happened the last time." 

    But was he even listening? Chucky has this annoying habit of looking directly at you as if he's hearing every word you're saying, but he's not really listening at all. 

    One of my all time favorite movies is Meet the Parents. Instantly I became the Robert De Niro character Jack in my favorite scene where he tries to intimidate his future son-in-law Ben Stiller. De Niro takes his two forefingers, points them at his eyes and then points them directly at Stiller. In other words--I'm watching YOU. I imitated that gesture to Chucky. He bounced back a little. 

      Satisfied I'd made my point, we took the wonderful boardwalk-like trail that went around the tree to the back. It was less crowded. Our guide was telling us about General Grant--the tree. 

    President Eisenhower declared it to be a National Shrine in 1956. It was dedicated to the men and women of the Armed Forces who fought and died to keep America free. General Grant is also called the Nation's Christmas Tree. 

    That piece of information--imagining this tree being decorated with bulbs and lights and tinsel--made me think about Chuck. One of his favorite places at Christmas is under our Christmas tree at home . . . Chuck. I looked down. No Chuck. 

    In the background I heard Dan ask when this magnificent tree was first called General Grant.

    "1867."

    I tugged on Dan's sleeve. "Chuck. Do you see him anywhere?"

    He shook his head.

    "Not again."

    Our guide and all the visitors were further ahead now. We stopped. "Chuck has to be here somewhere."

    We craned our necks upwards, both anticipating and dreading the inevitable--that Chuck, once again, was making an attempt to climb a giant sequoia. 

    We were dead wrong.

    It was only when we looked down that we spotted him--snoozing peacefully at the truck of General Grant. 

    

    Dan rescued Chuck from the forbidden zone. The poor kid, I thought. All that hiking and sightseeing had worn him plum out! Boy, could I sympathize. It was the end of a long day. 

    As we returned to our hotel that night, I thought about the day's events and wondered what I could have done differently. One thing for sure. I had to work on my Robert DeNiro I'm watching YOU impression.