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February 28, 2005
rock hop
.....a short piece of writing by Dean Potter, a rockclimber:***Cold air from the valley drifts upwards. It's predawn and I've been moving on the north Nose of El Cap through the night, focused on the rock in front of me in the faint light of my headlamp. Suddenly, I think of how tired and exposed I am, alone, ropeless, far past any point of retreat. A surge of panic courses through me. I try to think of the summit but that thought, too, is dangerous.An image floats into my mind. I'm following my father in the early through a pasture in the White Mountains in New Hampshire. He strides towards Moosebrook, his favorite fishing spot. I'm not even half his height, and the frosty grass brushes all the way up to my waist.
We reach the river. My Dad skips from rock to rock, downstream to the first hole, and looks back for me. The water is freezing, and the rocks are covered in slime. I'm afraid to follow. I burrow painfully through the thickets of pricker bushes, swamp, and blackflies as my father calls for me. The bugs chase me back to the river's edge. and I timidly wade in and try to catch up. Tense and anxious, I lose my footing, and fall into the river. I gasp for breath in the icy water, but manage to scramble onto a rock where I bawl until my father comes back. "I don't like fishing. I want to go home".My father shakes his head at me, and his eyes sparkle. "Dean, put everything else aside. There's nothing to be afraid of, except a little cold water. Just focus on the next step you are taking. I feel so happy running down the river, the sun reflecting off the water, my body naturally going where it's supposed to. I almost don't think at all. I just respond to what's in front of me."
He stops talking and heads downstream again. We slowly pick our way across the rocks, catching rainbows and brook trout. The day passes quickly and my confidence rises. Soon, I'm playing and racing down the rapids with eyes wide and senses alert, not knowing I've just recieved my first lesson in Zen.The air drifts over my body. I grasp the immediate. I reach for the next hold.****
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I remember being about 6 or 7 and visiting my Grandma in upstate NY. There was a gully with a stream rushing through it, complete with rocks at all angles, slippery moss, and icy water. This story struck a chord in me. I used to love hiking in that stream as a kid. It was beautiful. Fairly quickly, I learned the art of sprinting from rock to rock, without any distractions. As you pushed of with your right foot, your body already knew where your left foot was going to land, and how much angle you should land on to prevent slipping and to send you in the direction of the next "pre-selected" rock. And it was all so effortless. It exhilerated and calmed me at the same time. I guess my addiction to "Flow" started here. I never would have remembered if not for that article. In winter, I progressed to "Don't Break the Ice", using frozen spots to step on, the trick being to move very quickly over the ice without breaking it. (Its amazing how warm you can stay when you are exercising after your mom bundles you up for outdoor winter play, and you are soaked from the waist down.)
When I experience Flow, I experience Being. In the moment, at peace and harmony, in complete concentration without effort, feeling like you are more than you are...but also less of a self, being part of a system (like becoming one with the stream - I know ..cliche) When you experience this, there is a deep joy, a smile on your face for days. You have tapped into a great state of conciousness that is not always easy to do.
Ok, so enough rambling... Go back and read the artical again. Instead of reading about climbing and rock-hopping, read it as a metaphor for life ...
Posted by Ocean at February 28, 2005 02:29 PM