Lucid Dreaming
The days leading up to climbing Lucid Dreaming are blended in my mind, probably due to my repetitive routine - most of those days were the same. Wake up and eat the same breakfast - wheat noodles with some vegetables and fried eggs, cooked in my passenger seat. A cup of coffee from Ground Fall would kick start my day, either into a big hacky sack circle or a walk down the road to sit and stare at the Grandpa Peabody. By noon, I’d be making the same lunch - 2 packs of noodles and a large can of chicken, sometimes I’d enjoy that with instant bone broth. My tummy is full on the same meal I’ve eaten for the past week, and so I’d feel ready to start climbing.
I’d listen to a different album each afternoon, usually a live-recorded Jerry Garcia album, as I’d stretch with my eyes closed, visualizing myself climbing on Lucid Dreaming. Over the past 2 years, I’ve had this weird thing when visualizing myself on a big project - I can rarely see myself sending the problem. My mind will be completely still, I’ll start to visualize the climbing, and right as I’m about to stick the move I’m worried about, I interject and watch myself fall. This happens over and over again, sometimes for weeks on end. But there’s always a day when I wake up and the cycle breaks. I close my eyes, and I’m finally in full control. I can watch and feel myself climbing the project in my mind, over and over again. When this happens, I know it’s only a matter of time before I’m standing on top of the rock in the real world, and not my dreams.
Each time I tried to grab the infamous mini pinch hold from the start, I had a really close try. I’d feel fresh and on the hold in the right way, only to fumble the next edge while jumping. Or, I’d barely be holding the pinch and would still be close to doing the next move. I must have fallen off the last hard move over a dozen times in the last week of November. Although it was slightly frustrating, it became clear that I just needed the right try when everything was in its place and worked together.
During my first season in Bishop, I recognized this pattern in myself alongside the moon. The 2 weeks leading up to a full moon were full of energy and positivity, and the opposite for the 2 weeks leading to a new moon. As the moon was becoming fuller at the end November, I was having better and better tries. The moon peaked over the hills around 6 pm on December 2nd - that’s when I had my best try of the night. My mind wanted me to keep going, but my body was ready to retreat to the Subaru for the night. I left with a plan, return in 2 days when the full moon would rise at 6 pm - the time when conditions seemed best for me.
Video above: Despite nearly falling off moving to the pinch, I managed to dig deep enough to have a very close try. This was the try when I knew it was going to happen soon, it just had to be the right try.
I treated myself to some tacos for dinner on the 3rd, I needed a break from the past 10 lunches and dinners of canned chicken and instant noodles. I filled my belly up and drove up Buttermilk Rd in the dark. A white rabbit ran in front of my car a few min up the road, I slowed to let it pass but it didn’t, it just stayed ahead of me for the next 10min, and I followed it up the road. I went to bed once I got to camp so I could be well rested, and fell into the rabbit hole.
I woke up early in the morning, except only my mind was awake; my body lay still and heavy on my sleeping pad. Everything was black, and I thought to myself “it seems early, but not too early to start the day”. And that’s when I realized I had awoken in my sleep, into a Lucid Dream - something that had not happened to me in at least 5 years. I decided to stay there a while longer, enjoy the awareness and presence, letting my body rise when it felt ready.
The crows flew all around me that morning as I sat on a lone boulder in the field, staring at Grandpa Peabody. I could see myself standing on the summit, I could feel what that was like, I could tell I was ready. 6 more hours until I should start warming up, it felt a lot longer than that though.
I hung my hang board in the same place I always do, did the same warm up, finishing that by holding positions on Lucid. Most things were the same, except that it was quiet at the boulder today. Normally, there are anywhere from 10 to 30 people under Grandpa in the evening. Some climbing, but most just hide in the shadows, silently watching people climb, hoping to see someone climb one of the hardest in the Milks. For some, this isn’t an issue, but it really started to get to me this season - I’d resort to climbing with headphones on to block out the noise, pressure, and distractions. But on December 4th, the headphones stayed in my pack; it was just Pablo and I.
It’s 4pm, and although the moon has not risen I’ll start climbing. On my first try of the day, I stuck the mini pinch perfectly, jump to the next edge and for some reason didn’t even try to grab it. Silly, I don’t know what happened, I’ll just blame it on not being ready. 20min later, I try again, this time with a bit more conviction. I grab the pinch, and this time I’m barely on it. I readjusted 3 times but couldn’t get much more than half of the hold in my fingertips. I go for the jump, not feeling hopeful but still trying my hardest.
For the first time from the ground, I latched the crimp and held the swing. But just as I go to place my foot on a small edge, and execute the outro sequence, I can feel myself sliding. I’m rolling out of the right-hand edge, and with only half the pinch in my left hand, I’m left to try my absolute hardest. I place the foot and push on it, my hips rise faster than my hands can handle and suddenly, I’m falling.
I was stunned, in pure disbelief that I could have fallen there. Pablo’s jaw is on the floor with mine, and it’s silent for a moment. I start to chuckle, and my first words are, “I can do it, I wasn’t shocked that happened, I grabbed the pinch really tipped out again. Well, I get to try again”. Pablo keeps the positivity going, “dude, high point!”. We watched the video over and over again for the next 10 minutes, still trying to understand what happened. Ultimately, if I were to do it that try, I would’ve gotten away with poor execution and had to try really hard. I hate climbing that way. When I finish a big project, I want to execute it perfectly; there’s no room for error or ugly movements.
And so, I keep trying and continue to wait for the moment to come to me. For 2 more hours, it feels like it may not arrive today. I was having trouble getting the pinch from the start again, and when I did, I wasn’t close on the next move. It’s 6 pm now, I’ve given 7 tries, and I’m feeling it in my body and mind. Pablo lies in the sand, slowly fading away, desperately hoping I call the session off so we can eat dinner. But the moon rises, and I feel like giving one last shot today. “Gimme 20 to rest Pabs, and then I’ll try one last time before we go”. I walk away from the boulder and towards the Full Moon. I sit there and try to channel its powers.
It’s very quiet, so I play some music on my phone beside the pads, something fast to wake my mind up and get ready to try hard. I pull on and focus on doing everything right, and I do. I’m back to swinging on the final move, this time with control. I place my foot down and stay on the wall, do the next move calmly and keep my breath steady as I embark on my big journey around the Grandpa. The fast-paced techno song ends, and “Finger Tips” by Brian Jonestown Massacre begins. The song change is perfect, almost movie moment-like. I keep 3 points of contact with the wall as I start to enter the no-fall zone. I pause on the flake before the slab crux, Pablo tosses me a chalk bag and headlamp for the downclimb. I can’t help but look all around me, the jagged Sierra mountains and sage-dotted desert below them illuminated in soft white moonlight. Everything feels alive in that moment, and I feel so connected to it, a part of this moment and landscape.
I make it through the slab crux, moving slowly to maintain control and notice all the air below me. It’s easy, enjoyable climbing to the top now, and when I make it there, I can’t help but howl at the moon a few times.
I stay on top until it feels right to return to the ground, I wanna go see Pabs now and give him a big hug. I roll over the lip of the downclimb, 55ft of air and stone below me. I haven’t climbed down before, a bit silly, but now I get to enjoy this return to the ground for my first time. I move carefully, making sure each foot is solid before I continue down. I finish the final traverse and jump to the boulder Pablo is on, waiting for me. I give him that big hug, thank him for staying to support tonight, and we walk back to front of the boulder, both of us making remarks of how crazy a moment that was.
And that’s that, I arrived at the end of my journey. There isn’t anything else to be discovered, learned, or felt with this one. Sometimes when I finish a big project, I get sad. But this time, I’m content. So much has changed within me in the 5 years I’ve wanted to climb Lucid Dreaming. I’ve felt so many highs and lows in so many different ways. I can’t help but feel human right now, so connected to this place and all that’s happened around it because of this big rock I really wanted to summit a specific way. I don’t think I would’ve wanted this one to go any other way. Everything is in its right place, and now I can move on.
Great read! Thanks for giving us a look into your experience, and congrats on the send 🤙
Wow, I loved reading this. Thank you Ethan