Homage to partnership

"Just keep your hand on the brake strand. I got the rest, and I got you."

My climbing partner decided to go on his first solo big wall climb. When he told me about his great adventure, as a norm of my personality and our friendship, I invited myself on the trip. As always, he welcomed me with open arms. It was now our adventure. Our goals were big wall climbing, sleeping on a portaledge, and, since I'm a photographer, to take photos, many, many photos.

As we trained, planned, and researched, my heart filled with excitement, and my thoughts became more anxious. I'm still new to outdoor climbing, so it quickly became overwhelming. Andy, my climbing partner, has 6 more years of experience than me, indoors and outdoors. My biggest concerns were: "Will I be able to support him, or will I be a burden and slow him down as a partner?" I have only been climbing for 2 years, and I can count the climbs I've done outdoors on one hand.

Nature is beautiful, but it is stronger and bigger than us. We go against its indestructible force every time we decide to climb the next mountain.

Big wall climbing is a challenging task. Andy's eyes were set on Tehipite Dome, looking at different routes. We were thinking: "How about a 14-mile approach? 12 pitches? No, no- 15 pitches. Time-wise, I'm thinking 4 days. No, actually, 3 days." Bigger climbs and less time. As we planned, the endeavor only grew, and so did my doubts about my abilities as Andy's partner.

All I can think was: "I have two and a half months to train physically and mentally and to understand how to take professional photos 3,000 feet from the ground, you know...without dying." I went to school for this. I practiced taking photos outdoors, but this was different. This was pro-level. I will have to not just climb but jumar all those 15 pitches, not fall behind, and make time to plan for the photos while up there. I was way in over my head, but Andy was my rock. He was firm and confident about our abilities to achieve our goals.

It is important to note that Andy lives in a different city now. We don't climb together anymore. We went from climbing three times a week for 3 - 4 hours to...crickets. We are still friends and climbing partners, but things look very different now. It's been many moons since it felt like a partnership, and yet we were embarking on this big trip. During the two months we had to prepare for this task, I went to see him probably twice to train together and to get on the same page.

It is an understatement to say I was freaking out.

On the last weekend, before we went our separate ways and met in California, I freaked out on him. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I laid all my doubts on the table. As a staple of Andy's personality, he was level-headed. He quickly calmed my nerves. He listened and said a few simple words, and at that moment, all my hesitation faded into the wind.

"Just keep your hand on the brake strand. I got the rest, and I got you."

Finally, the day came: sunny California, or so we thought. When we arrived at the location, the snow deviated from our plans, and months of planning went out the window. Goodbye location—no way to get through. As I said, we are going against nature. We have no control over what it wants to do. We had to adjust.

Our trip was only a week long; we researched and monitored the weather. But the fourth day went by, and we still didn't have a location; time was moving quickly. Things weren't going according to plan, and I was getting concerned thinking about all that we had invested. We had put time, resources, and a lot of hope into this trip. As fun as it had been so far without climbing, we had dreams of adventuring in the mountains, bigger goals, and it did not seem like they would happen.

I didn't want to freak out again and put that on my partner. I kept it to myself until I couldn't anymore. Then, I broke down on the patio of our Airbnb, overlooking the mountains we couldn't climb. We talked, and he calmed me down, but this time, I was still down; as much faith as he had in us, we had to face reality. Andy couldn't control time, and we were running out of time. Despite these obstacles, I was still on board; I wiped my tears and trusted his judgment.

We assessed and made a plan. We had to downsize, choose a closer mountain, and get moving. Most importantly, I had to adjust my expectations. I was in charge of equipment, and Andy was responsible for location. He chose tollhouse rock, so we went from climbing 3,000 ft to 600 ft, and from 15 pitches to 3 pitches; a substantial change.

As we got started, we realized that even though the approach was much smaller than our original plan, carrying half of our weight in backpacks, water jugs, and a portledge over a rocky, slippery approach would be very challenging. Nonetheless, we reached the bottom of our route and started the climb. Due to both of us working remotely, we did not leave the house until noon. When we reached the second pitch and were ready to camp on the portledge, our surroundings were pitch black.

We ran into our share of difficulties, to name a couple: a rope getting stuck and having to rappel all the way down to get it, and setting up a portledge for the first time with one headlamp and another one about to die, wasn’t the best situation for an efficient set-up in the middle of the night.

I was a supportive partner and not the lead. Andy had a heavier burden; he utilized more mental power and strength to ensure I didn't clip in the wrong carabiner and that the knots were correct, all while being calm and setting up our floating bed. After 3 hours, we had made it. The portledge was set up, and we were ready to crash. The next day, I was woken up by the sunrise and the sound of nature. We did it! We slept on the wall, and the first goal was checked. After the right amount of selfies (forced by me) onto Andy, we decided to go down and return to our stay since we were exhausted and lacked time to accomplish any more objectives. Hiking back down was not a walk on the beach. It was strenuous since we had decided to dump all our water to make the bags lighter. So we were running on celebratory shots of gas station whisky

and cigarettes. We somehow made it; I should say, I somehow made it. Andy had made it to the end of the hike, left his bags, and came and helped me since I had gotten lost. If you are thinking, "Wow, she is not fit for the outdoor life; she gets lost and cries a lot; why is she even out there?" then you are correct, and I asked myself the same question every time.

We came back the following day to get some photos, I was not hopeful since we only had a few hours, but I gave it a shot with a good attitude. I was stoked since we had accomplished one of our biggest goals the day before: sleeping on a wall. We only had a few hours before leaving, so time was of the essence. We risked it all in those few hours, and it happened. Andy had “Macgyvered” himself off the edge of a route so I could get these beautiful photographs that I'm so proud of. To top it all off, we had time to spare to dance some salsa on top of the mountains.

All of the things I was worried about and more happened. I slowed us down, got lost, cried, lost Andy for a bit, and cried again. As well, our goals were met! we climbed, slept, photographed, and danced in the mountains. I learned that two things can be true at the same time. Failure and success. Disappointment and acceptance. All can live in the same space.

After all this time of knowing my partner, after all the adventures we have had together, Houston, Austin, Vegas, and now Cali. I thought it was all about me and how I wasn't being a good partner because I didn't have his level of experience, athleticism, calmness, and confidence. Through this adventure, I learned that my biggest flaw as a partner is not seeing him as who he is, as a disciplined, committed, and strong climber, like the day I met him. He made it all happen and more.

Sometimes, I believe he conspired with nature just to show me how he will always make it right, how he will always make the impossible happen. His precise feedback and patience throughout my climbing journey have shifted my mindset. It is not about sticking to a plan but about making the best of what you are given. Because even if you don't have the mountains, you will always have your climbing partner.