city or rocks

Sometimes heaven is a place on earth.

Welcome to City of Rocks, Idaho, USA:

The thing is, The City is one of the most beautiful places I have ever climbed. It looks like Tolkien’s Middle Earth. Granitic forms rise up and out of the sage, juniper and aspen stands and tower there, hundreds of feet above the earth in unique and beautiful forms. It’s nearly too much to bear. I don’t know where to look so I take it all in at once and feel a bit dizzy, a bit tiny and a little bit justified beneath all of that magnificent and exposed igneous intrusion.

I consider The City to be one of the Holy of Holies in this state of mine. The rumble and fumble of creation is heard here in the whisker twitch of a jackrabbit and the soft, slow crumble of gorgeously formed granite; firm in crystal lattice: like prickly liquid under the softness of my hands. This is living rock.

When I’m on it, something that once slept in me becomes wild and alive.

I become a wedge of lichen clinging to its surface; a burly little fern pushing up and out of a fissure.

I feel small and mighty. All at once. I’m part of a greater whole.

My perspective grows wide.

God feels bigger than ever.

I was in good company with people who climb safely.

My partner, Sue, pushed me to do routes outside of my comfort zone. And each time I sent a route, I howled at the top like a wild thing and shook my mane in the wind before looking out at the vistas below me. We perched atop rocks like wise ravens, like stone mavens. We felt the burn of rock on skin, felt the rush of tenuous grips, watched the clouds roll in and roll back under the hand of the sun. We pushed through mental barriers. We never quit. Not even once. We hid in a cave when it rained. We sweated like men, called out encouragement to each other and pulled past pigeon rookeries on our way to the top.