Slackline Community - Growing up beneath the big walls of Yosemite

Anonymous writes "I walk into Camp 4 with my 17 year-old son, Braden; he wants to show me his latest moves on the slack line. It's his high-school graduation day. We have just walked over from the ceremony in a meadow beneath the thundering Yosemite Falls. As we pass among the tents, my head practically spins. I lived in this camp when I was Braden's age, met his mother when just a bit older, and, when he was born, became one of several Yosemite climbing dads at 20. Camp 4 is only a simple campground, but in a wondrous place, amid mixed oak and pine woodlands, and the granite walls and boulders that have attracted residents who've become legends. I am one of the lucky climbers who have managed to settle here. Though I've sometimes lived elsewhere, I stayed connected through Braden, who has grown up in El Portal. Braden leads me confidently through the oaks to the slack line that Dean Potter and Cedar Wright have set up in the woods out past the rescue site. Braden has eagerly picked up advice while watching his new mentors, the slack-line masters, jump, twist, turn, and do laps on a piece of 70-foot-long, one-inch webbing 10 feet off the ground. Braden walks the line, executes a 180, then another, and cruises to the far tree. He has entered a world of balance and focus at which I can only marvel; I never could get the hang of the slack line myself. Also here watching is a group of Braden's peers: kids born and raised in Yosemite, whose parents are mostly old friends from the 1970's climbing scene. Twenty-three years ago, I camped here with my mentors, Mark Hudon and Max Jones. They were tearing up the Valley, doing early ascents of many 5.12 cracks, the top standard of the time. They were generous with tips and inspiration for me, an eager 15 year-old with big free-climbing dreams. One day they left for a road trip and, this being long before the invention of the Therm-a-rest, left me with six mattresses they had "borrowed" from the women's dormitory across the street. When I returned that day from climbing, Law Enforcement rangers detained me for possession of stolen property. After some heavy lecturing and a quick call to my dad to make sure I really was a "serious climbing protégé" rather than a standard runaway, the rangers let me recruit some friends to carry the mattresses back across the street, and go free. Over time we grew to prefer sharing the mattresses with their rightful owners, which is how our families began and why we are here today celebrating graduation. From Camp 4 we go to dinner at the Ahwahnee Hotel. Back in the 1970's this was a favorite haunt, where friends and I spent stormy days in the sweet shop and lounge. One such day in 1979 we organized a slide show in the Winter Club Room for and audience of 20 or so young climbers. The topic was the third ascent, by Bill Price, Auggie Klien, Dave Dieglemann, and guy Thompsen of the Pacific Ocean Wall. Some hotel guests joined us and were thrilled by the slides. We all thought someone had secured permission, so when the security guard challenged us, we said, "Oh, yeah, the manager gave us the room." Halfway through the show, the guard was back with a stern-looking woman in a suit"Bill, you got permission, right?" "Oh, I thought you did, Dave." "Well, of course, the manager said we were welcome!" Finally, the woman yelled, "I am the manager and you have two minutes to clear out before I have you arrested!" Sheepishly, with apologies to the guests, we left. Our community has not always been a harmonious one. At one of the lowest points in our history, debates about rap-bolting intensified enough to cause blows between friends. I remember sitting in the bar with Jim Bridwell, one of the most important mentors to many of us. He said, "On your dying day, when you face your maker or the universal void, do you think it will matter one whit how hard you climbed or what style you used? No way, man. Only one thing will matter: how many people you helped along the way. " Yosemite can, of course, be limiting as a community. Many people settle here to escape the outside world, seeing a life near nature as a refuge. They can be unwilling to engage the energy, progress, and ideas outside these large walls. In the late 1980's I found I had to leave to grow, to meet people from different backgrounds and viewpoints..I tried to live the best of both worlds and provide that for the kids, Braden and his two (half) sisters. We spent time in the city checking out art, urban culture and skateboarding; and in the mountains at village soccer games, or going climbing and skiing. At times I bumped hard into the conservative aspects of a small remote village community. Stonewall, the gay climbing club, was welcome a t CityRock but, I felt, would have had a harder time being accepted n Camp 4. The women leaders of Project Bandaloop used to get into frustrating arguments with the rescue-site dudes over gender equality, though over time such interactions have created understanding and friendships. It was a fire, in 1998, that summoned me back: the house where my son, his mom, and his two sisters ived burned to the ground. Everyone was OK, but when Braden called me, he was standing in his boxer shorts and that was all he had left. All of our neighbors, and even young climbers, gave us clothes, food, money, and hours and days of help sorting through the blackened wreckage. Five months later I moved back here full time, realizing the value of such a community in this day and age when many have little connection to people or place. Overall, the best aspect of being a long-term member of a community is to be part of renewed cycles of mentoring. The recent passing of David Brower has caused many of us to reflect on the legacy of our Yosemite climbing forebears, the Sierra Club climbers of the 1920's and 1930's. They invented the belay system we still use, and pioneered the first "modern style" technical rock climbs. Most important, they started a successful Rock Climbing Section of the Sierra Club that fostered a climbing community through technical instruction and an environmental ethos. It was unforgettable to hear David Brower speak two years ago at the Camp 4 Reunion, with so many generations of Valley residents in attendance. Sittingwith my extended family, I felt Brower's commitment to exploring and preserving mountain environments reach through the generations into the future. The blending of the old guard and the new wave in Yosemite, form current locals to frequent visitors, came home to me one recent evening s I descended from an ascent of El Cap with my son. We had done the Zodiac, 20 years after I first climbed it when I was just shy of 18, exactly the same age as he. Descending, we had nearly reached the road when Jim Bridwell, coming down from a film-rigging job on the summit, caught up to us. He had lent us the rack to do the climb, and asked Braden how it was to climb it hammerless. "It was cool," said Braden. "My dad took the only fall!" We hitched a ride with Tommy Caldwell back to the lodge and shared a drink with TM Herbert, who told stories about his last ascent of El Cap with his son tom. Looking around the bar I saw those who climb gently through the pain of their arthritis seilling ber next to the 5.15 chasers.Out in front of the lodge, we watched Leo Houlding re-enact his extreme campfire gymnastic moves. Within the year-round community, the new generation of kids and young adults born and raised here is the interesting group to watch. As they take off to college or travel, they will broaden their perspectives and bring back new ideas. As they already enjoy connections with people all over the globe, because the whole climbing world seems to visit here. What will Chelsea Cashner, Lonie Kauk, Libby Brossman, Lynnea Anderson, Layton Bridwell, Ellie Corbett, Anji Ballerini-Chapman, Braden, and many others do to express themselves in life? How will a childhood spent walking under towering granite walls and swimming near waterfalls inform them and the lives they choose to lead? The question for us in Yosemite and for the greater community of mountain adventurers around the world is, how do we preserve our community and the environment? We need to teach, guide, and spend time with kids in the mountains, and help people make connections between nature and their daily lives, wherever they live. Life in the mountains has been a great gift. Pass it on.
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