by alphaclimber Abbey Rhoderick

At that moment, total awe had struck, as we gazed in complete astonishment at the sky above us. Upward seemed to be a deep purple abyss, as the sun, whose rays were just minutes ago piercing into our skin, was now engulfed by the moon. Rays of sheer white light swarmed around its crisp edges, and for a second, all was silent. No one moved, nor breathed it seemed, as we stood, stuck to the ground, in pure wonderment. Never in my life had I seen a solar eclipse until this moment, and it was then that I realized how small I was in comparison to the enormity of the world around me.

*Abbey, Mark, and Jackson preparing for the total solar eclipse.*

I have rock climbed since I was nine years old, so for what is almost seven years now. In that time span, when I wasn’t at school, I filled the majority of my time with training, competing, and daydreaming about the thrill of it all. The sport is a drug, and I’m addicted. Well, I was addicted to indoor rock climbing, at least. It wasn’t until recently that I had learned how amazing it is to climb outdoors

“I’m thinking mid-August,” Aaron had said, rubbing his forehead as he thought, “we’ll definitely be in the path of totality then.” He had been sitting across from me at the dinner table, telling us of his plans for the summer. Only January, and he already was excited about the simplest of details. Climbing boulders in South Africa. Deep-water soloing in Mallorca, Spain. His ambition and enthusiasm for travel and rock climbing had always been something that peaked my curiosity.

I had known Aaron for as long as I’d been climbing. He is a wild character. Unlike anybody I have ever met before. The best way I can possibly think of to describe him is as a ginormous ball of energy, compressed into the small body of a human. Not only did his enthusiasm and “psyche” radiate from him, but his humor never ceased to make most people laugh. He is the only adult I know who owns a pair of Heely’s, (and wears them proudly). He is one of the few people I know who dances like nobody’s watching, and that always knows how to make an awkward situation into a funny one. Basically, he’s just a big kid, that had just had a lot of life experience. Most importantly, however, he never takes himself, or anything for that matter, too seriously. That, in my mind, had always been one of the reasons that I respect him.

Luckily enough for kid-climbers in Montana, and all over the United States, Aaron ran summer climbing trips, to places all over the world. Spain, France, Greece, South Africa, and plenty of places within the bounds of our home country. One of which happened to be in The Fins, Idaho.

“I want you to go,” he had said, as a serious expression crossed his face. “I think that you are strong enough and that it would be good for you to push yourself.”

The idea of such a thing brought about two very strong emotions for me: ambition and fear.

“From what I gather, you are just waiting for something to happen to you, that will lead to your success,” Aaron had said. “but, I don’t think that will happen, unless you take that step yourself.”

Seven months later, I found myself climbing at The Fins.

*Abbey redpointing Solstice, 5.12a/b at The Fins.*

I have always been a person who struggles with keeping my morale up, and with fighting through the tough emotions that cloud my judgment. It’s a weird thing, how depression works. All of a sudden, everything around you seems to dull. Sometimes, I just felt lonely, and as though there was a hole inside of me that would never be filled. Those feelings, the ugly ones that plagued my mind and body, were not afraid to show themselves during those first few days of the trip.

My eyes slowly fluttered open, and I winced at the bright light that seemed to flood my senses. As my vision cleared, I recognized the orange fly of my tent, turned somewhat transparent as the light made its way through. I recognized the soft and comforting feel of my sleeping bag against my cheek, and before long, gradually began to recognize a somewhat agitating sound: flies.

Dozens of them, swarming between the body of my tent and the fly that covered it. They, much like us, were trying to escape the heat.

I sit up slowly, and begin to search through my bags, pulling out clothes for the day. Once I’m dressed, I slowly unzip my door, crawling out onto the dusty ground. The sun immediately seemed to warm my skin, to the point that I grew hot. A few feet away, Aaron, Mark, and Jackson were already awake, sitting underneath the giant tent that we had up to protect us from the heat. Jackson and Mark, the two other boys who were here on the trip were talking, and Aaron was sitting in his camp chair.

“Mornin’,” Aaron says.

When I had woken up this morning, I had forgotten where I was. I had forgotten how scared I’d felt, and I’d forgotten about the ugly feelings that swarmed in my mind and stomach. “I can’t believe I’m here,” I’d thought, gulping down a wave of emotion. Now, I stood, facing the three of them. I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath, letting the bad out, and trying to breathe the good in.

Fear seemed to course through nearly every vein in my body, making my hands shake and my lips quiver. Not the type of anxious fear that makes you want to shut down. Instead, it was the kind of fear that made you want to flee. It was my body’s natural response to something that I knew was truly terrifying.

We’d driven up the road to the climbs, and when the rock came in sight, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Jutting up from the grassy and dust strewn hills were giant faces of sheer limestone; literal fins of rock. The stood, both enchanting and ominous at the same time, almost as though they were saying “come try me if you dare,” as they basked in the comfort of the shade.

Now, I was here, touching the rough limestone with my fingertips, craning my neck upwards. The rock was beautiful, and cool to the touch. I could see every hold I could grab, and where, eventually, many feet up, I would clip the chains of the route. If I could finish it, that was. I felt my heart race, pumping laboriously in my chest as adrenaline began to run its course. I turn to Aaron, who watches me expectantly, strapped in and ready to belay me.

“You’re on,” he says.

“But, I don’t know how to make French Toast,” Mark objected. His blonde hair was sticking up in little tufts, and he stared, somewhat confused at Aaron.

“Think of it as more of...freedom toast,” Aaron responded, motioning to the cooler. “Come on, you guys should make breakfast,” he said, pointing to Mark and me.

Mark is tall, with long lanky arms and a goofy smile. At that point, I didn’t know him very well, but he had started to grow on me. He was genuinely nice, and much like Aaron, didn’t seem to take things very seriously. And, much like me, he was quiet at first, until he opened up.

“Ok, um, what else do we need," I had said, beating a couple of eggs together in a bowl. We were standing underneath the sun-tent, working at the fold-out tables.

“Uh- I don’t know, milk?” Mark replied.

“Ok, yeah, that’s good,” I said, trying to sound encouraging. Neither of us knew what we were doing at all. Aaron had disappeared with a shovel and toilet paper leaving us to figure out how to make “freedom toast.”

“Uh, Aaron only has weird organic milk,” Mark said, looking through the cooler.

“Aaron only as weird organic food in general,” I replied, laughing. I continued to whisk the eggs, dropping in a few pinches of cinnamon and spices. “What kind of milk is it?” I ask.

“Pea-milk?” He responded. His answer was one of confusion, as he held up the bottle, scratching his head. I furrowed my brow, confused.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“Pea-milk,” Mark repeated, looking up at me.

“No, I heard what you said, but...what?” I said, taking the bottle and reading its label. Aaron had introduced us to some new and interesting food on this trip, but pea-milk? I had never heard of it. I suppose, however, I had never heard of freedom toast, either.

About a half hour later, Mark and I were on a role. We had gotten into a routine: I dipped the bread into the weird mixture of organic-unheard-of-products, and Mark flipped it in a pan with a spatula, which he had just learned how to use only minutes ago. A goofy smile spread across his face as he flipped a piece, landing it successfully on its other side.

“Look! I did it! I used the spatula-thingy!!” He exclaimed in excitement. I laughed, smiling.

”Yeah, you did!” I reply. Aaron, who’d returned, sat in his camp chair, nodding approvingly. That’s when I realized something: not only was I smiling and laughing, but I felt good. I didn’t feel stressed, or worried. As a matter of fact, I felt happy. Even better, I’d made a new friend.

“Chef Mark in the house!” Mark exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

*Redpointing another 5.12: Shaken, not Stirred, at the Lower Discovery wall.*

I sat, weighting my harness, staring upwards at the rock. I was halfway through the route, and I was stuck. As I rested, furrowing my brow in confusion, the sun had begun to set. I looked out into the distance, watching as the sky’s color turned from a pale-blue into vibrant shades of pink and orange.

Earlier, I had felt scared to try this route. Fear seemed as though it would take over. Now, I sat here, feeling normal. The emotions had faded, into what had become a moving meditation. My entire body, and mind, were focused on one thing: movement. Miniscule details, like the turning of my hips, or quickness of my breath. It had felt perfect. Until I’d fallen, that is.

“Hey, Abbey,” I heard Aaron shout from below. I looked down at him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” I asked.
“I’m proud of you.” He replied simply.

I had proceeded to ask him why, already knowing the answer: I was trying, even though that meant failing in the process.

I finished the route the next day. That’s when I realized, that I was proud of me too.

*Cleaning up in a mineral hot springs pool near Craters of the Moon National Monument.*

I removed my protective glasses from my face, staring upwards, awestruck. I knew, right then and there, that I would never see anything like a solar eclipse again. As the temperature dropped, and the hairs of my neck stood on end, I stood frozen, literally and figuratively. It was pure, both simple and complex, and most importantly, beautiful. We heard the hollers and howls of other climbers camped in the distance, and we soon joined in.

I exhaled, howling at the sky, laughing, smiling, celebrating.

In that moment, I was celebrating not just the eclipse, but the beauty of everything around me. The people, the climbing, and the experience of all of it. On this trip, I had faced some difficult challenges, the kind that leaves a person drained and sometimes hopeless. Yet, I overcame it, and boy was I happy that I did. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have experienced an incredible adventure.

On my last day of the trip, as my eyes fluttered open, and I listened to the buzzing flies, a thought occurred to me. “Wow, I’m really here.” I said to myself. This time, however, it wasn’t fear that I felt. Instead, it was something else: content.

Abbey Rhoderick is a high school sophomore from Missoula, Montana, and is anxiously awaiting our 2018 summer sport climbing trip to Kyparissi, Greece.

Climbing at The Fins of SE Idaho