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. 

Rascal Chuck Falls in Love

    Do you believe in love at first sight? 

        Or for Chuck, was it love at first sniff?

     Cat lovers know that cats see the world differently than humans do. They tend to see objects that are farther away more clearly than objects that are close up. That's why they rely on their keen sense of smell. That tiny cat fact most likely explains why Chuck fell and fell hard, when from across the room he first spotted Jasmine, nickname Nunni, lounging on her mom's sofa. Soon after that, he raced over, stood up on his back paws, leaned onto the sofa and sniffed her. 

    You can guess the rest of the story. When she smelled like sweetness and light, he was a goner. He fell in love. 

    Nunni is a beautiful cat. She has pitch black luxurious fur. Her green eyes sparkle. Her meow sounded, no doubt, like a siren's call to my poor Chucky's heart. 

      We were visiting my lovely niece Kimber, Nunni's mom, and Chuck had decided to come along for the ride. We were not in some exotic location--no, not this time--just staying local and enjoying a little down time with family. 

    Chuck is a confirmed bachelor who prefers to play the field. He's always on the lookout for gorgeous girl cats. But this time with Valentine's Day on the horizon and love in the air, it didn't take long for Chuck to make eyes at Nunni and for Nunni to make eyes right back at Chuck.

       One sniff or two led to a luxurious nap together. Later we spotted them playing hide and seek together outside in the backyard. 

    

     I should have guessed that once Chuck arrived back home, all his oohing and ahhing was going to lead to plaintive meowing and then lovelorn sulking. 

    "Chucky, Nunni was just a passing infatuation," I tried to tell him. "You had one lovely afternoon. But it's over, buddy."

    Chuck didn't see it that way. When the ads for Valentine's Day on TV began to play fast and furious--flowers and chocolates and diamonds--Chucky searched for a better idea. He needed to find something special for Nunni to declare his undying love.

    At first he thought about a card. He poured his meows out in a sentimental valentine that I helped put in an envelope decorated with more valentines on it--addressed "Chickadee," his special term of endearment for Nunni.

    But that wasn't enough. He's all about food. And he'd discovered one thing about Nunni. She was a very picky eater. And she would only eat Fancy Feast. 

    The big idea struck a few evenings after when I was cooking in the kitchen. Could I make a special meal for Nunni using the cookbook that Aunt Kim gave me?

    Chucky figured if food was the surest way to his heart, it had to be the surest way to Nunni's heart! We flipped through the book together and found the purrfect recipe called the Holiday Special. 

    It's a simple recipe ( roasted turkey, cooked chicken, filtered water, and organic puree of pumpkin.) We gathered all the ingredients, and Chucky stood by as I chopped and mashed. 

    Of course, there was the taste test--just to make sure that the home cooked meal for Nunni was up to his fastidious standards. After a few "tastings," we were ready to go.

     Would Nunni actually prefer a home cooked meal to Fancy Feast? 

     Would Chucky's Valentine's Day dinner win Nunni's heart?

     Valentine's Day arrived on schedule and their date was scheduled for 3:00 p.m.  On the ride over, I felt I needed to say a few words--just in case. After all, I didn't want Chuck to get his hopes up too high.

    "Chuck, remember, the most important thing is that you wanted to do something nice for Nunni. You came up with a great idea. But there are never any guarantees when it comes to love."

    Chuck narrowed his eyes.

    "Maybe she won't like your grand gesture and just walk away. Don't be discouraged."

    He tilted his head. 

    I didn't want to say too much and rain on his parade.

    "After all, Aunt Kim did say that Nunni was a very picky eater. I know that's something that's hard to understand since you like to eat so much . . ." I was running out of things to say. It's hard when you want to protect your kids from heartache. 

    I didn't need to worry.

    Nunni was waiting for Chuck. We'd put her dinner in a special red bowl for Valentine's Day. Nunni, as if understanding the significance of the gesture, pranced right over and sniffed--of course. 

    I held my breath. 

    She took a tentative bite. And started eating. 

    Chuck's grand Valentine gesture was a success!

    Hallelujah!

    Chuck stood on the sidelines and watched Nunni eat and eat. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He inched closer. And closer. He circled around the bowl. Then, in an impulsive move, he nudged her out of the way and began to eat her Valentine's Day dinner. 

    Nunni, slightly stunned, stepped back, but not for long. She came back and nudged him out of the way and ate some more. 

    The two of them--Valentine Day sweethearts--finished every last morsel in that red bowl. Then they sauntered off, side by side, to take a good long nap. Because they're cats and that's what cats do. 

    Chuck and Nunni hope that everyone had a . . .

             

     

    

    

 

        

Chuck and the General Sherman Tree Scandal

 

    There are such things as sacred trees. In Sequoia National Park, in the southern Sierra Nevada Mountains (which are over 10 million years old), in California, giant Sequoia trees still live and breathe. This park, established in 1890, protects over 404,000 acres of forested mountainous terrain--most of it wilderness area--which means you can only get there by foot or horseback. 

    I was obsessed with seeing the sequoias in person. I wanted to stand next to one. I wanted to touch the bark. And I wanted to hear all the stories. They are legendary trees. 

    Dan and I (and, of course, Chuck) decided to visit California in the summer. Seeing the sequoias was number one on our list. Chuck was all in. It meant being outside. I also suspect the Chuckster had a secret desire to do more than just sniff one. 

    I did my research and was not shy about sharing the facts. We were on our way to the park. It was a beautiful California summer day. "Did you know," I said to Dan and Chuck, "that sequoias belong to the cypress tree family? They are the longest living organism on earth. They can live up to 2200 years or more. How's that for a startling statistic?"

    "Pretty impressive," Dan said.

    Chuck snorted.

    "Their bark, which is a bright red brown color, is about a foot thick which makes them disease and insect resistant. Also, fire resistant."

    "The bark feels spongy when you touch it," Dan added.

     I hadn't heard that. We were riding along for what seemed like hours, steadily gaining altitude, literally climbing a mountain, and about to see our first sequoia tree. Our tour guide Jeff was looking for a good parking spot. I was making a video, trying to capture all the trees that we passed.

    "Look. Look there." We passed our first giant sequoia." The bark of the tree was reddish. The trees themselves were wide in girth. Majestic looking. I was getting more excited by the minute. 

    Fast forward . . . in the park, we were in a kind of tree wonderland. 

Trees surrounded us: sequoias, redwoods--a distant cousin, lodgepole pines, sugar pine, red fir. We could get close and touch them. I took a moment and issued a silent thank you to the man who made it possible. John Muir. He believed it was important to protect the wild places in nature. He founded the Sierra Club. He is often called the "Father of our National Park System". He led a movement that resulted in Yosemite becoming a National Park. 

But the tree we were headed for was the most famous tree of all--the General Sherman Tree.

    This tree--as measured in 2022---is the largest tree on Earth by volume. It grows in the Giant Forest with five of the ten largest trees in the world. 

    As we got closer, the path became busier. Visitors, like ourselves, with backpacks and binoculars and cameras, crowded the path. To appreciate this natural wonder, you have to crane your neck back and look up--a long ways up. General Sherman is tall and wide. You have to step back to see how big it is. 

  

        Most people come to gawk. To take a photo of it. I had a different idea. It's hard to experience the tree with people milling around, talking and laughing.

    We decided to go around to the back of the tree. 

    You have to imagine General Sherman stands in all its magnificence as it has stood for 3,200 years. A wide expanse of land surrounds the tree. A gate made of logs surrounds the entire area so there is no way you can get close to the tree. The gate not only protects the roots but it prevents people from carving their names in the precious bark. It was quiet in the back. Deserted. Perfect.

    Chuck, believe it or not, was on his best behavior. I wasn't sure if he was more interested in General Sherman, however, or in the squirrel who was scampering near General Sherman.

    "Let it go," I said to Chucky. "That area inside the gate is the forbidden zone. General Sherman is a national landmark. You can get into big trouble if you try to go near it.

    My best approach was to distract him with interesting information. "Sequoias can drink up to 160 gallons of water a day. Now prepare to be amazed. Most plants get their water through their root system. But in these trees, the roots are not deep, they run sideways, so the roots can only provide about 60% of the water they need. The other 40% comes from the air."

    Dan interrupted. "What do you mean?"

    "Sequoias and redwoods can only grow in very wet areas--near an ocean, a stream, where there's a lot of fog. Their leaves literally have to pull the water out of the--" I stopped.

    Near the base of the General Sherman tree, an orange and white cat who looked suspiciously like Chuck, was sniffing the bark. 

    "Chuck, do not sniff--"

    He stopped sniffing. That much is true, but then he leapt up onto General Sherman, his claws latching onto the bark.

    I couldn't believe it. "Chuck."

    With no hesitation, he started to climb up General Sherman. One paw reached up and grabbed on. The other paw reached up.

    Sniffing was bad enough but climbing was an outright scandal. 

    "We have to get that cat down from that tree!"

    "Just give him a minute," Dan calmly said.

    Luckily, there was no one in sight. It was amazing how no one came around to the back of the tree. 

    "Does he actually think he's going to climb to the top?"

     Chuck took his third step. His fourth step.

    "How tall is it anyway?" Dan asked.

    "275 feet," I choked out. 

    "Well, Chucky has a long way to go."

    Suddenly he stopped climbing. 

    "Do you think he's stuck?" I asked.

    By this time, I'd had a chance to feel the bark on these sequoias. Dan was right when he'd described it as spongy. Had Chucky's nails somehow become embedded in that spongy substance, and now he was clinging there for dear life, hoping to be rescued?

    "Come on, Chuck," Dan called in his best fatherly voice.

    Chuck gave a little shake as if he were shaking off some kind of voodoo spell that had taken him over. Then with no preamble, he jumped to the ground and flew back, his paws barely touching the earth, through the danger zone. One second he was clinging to the tree, the next he was sitting, grooming near our feet, as if he hadn't done the worst possible thing.

    "Chuck--"

    Dan touched my arm. "If you're going to tell him off, don't waste your breath."

    Well, Dan was right. I decided to change tactics. "What did General Sherman smell like?" I was more than a little jealous that Chuck had gotten close to this historic tree when I'd had to admire the General from a distance. 

    "A tree," said a snarky voice.

    But it wasn't Chuck's voice. It was Dan's. 

    I gazed down at the Rascal Cat who always dares to do more than I'll ever do. I guess that's why I take him places when I travel. I often call him my alter ego, and I guess he is!!