Half Dome in the Spirit

As we set out in the pre-dawn from Happy Isles, I hear the voices of our young warriors echoing up and down the hillside. Our group of twenty-five charges the first hill together, but the youngest and strongest soon begin to stretch the pack forward. My daughter, son, and nephew will reach the top of Half Dome in under three hours. I’m giving myself six.

I charge the first hill too fast and I’m already at the top of my breath. I remind myself for the first of countless times, that to succeed today, I have to slow down. I’m not competing with the twenty-somethings. This is about the journey as much as the goal. Nevertheless, it is difficult to watch the entire group surge ahead. By the time I reach the first bridge over Vernal Falls, I can’t see or hear anyone else.

I summon the Holy Spirit for companionship, and I am reminded of St. Patrick’s breastplate:

Christ be with me,
Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I am a field of spirit, slowly moving up the mountain.

Dawn is beginning to break when I reach the heart of the famous mist trail. There is enough light to see the river gorge below and the falls above. The overpowering sound of rushing water clears my mind of the endless subterfuge. Someone is waving far above at the rim of the falls. I sense my daughter’s presence in this message of encouragement.

Worries that the Yosemite Falls hike had drained too much energy and strength to complete the Half Dome trip begin to fade into the morning. I think I have the physical strength to make it to the top. Spiritually girded against the mental and emotional challenges ahead, I’m suddenly overcome with the uplifting feeling that victory is in hand, and the journey will be a once in a lifetime experience.

The Spirit lifts me up the steep mountain stairways to Nevada Falls. A few pre-dawn groups catch me from behind. Camaraderie strikes up as we play leapfrog with the lead, sharing the joy of the challenge. Hearts thump in the cool morning.

My good friend Bill is waiting for me at the top of the falls. I suspect Bill has been assigned by the conventional wisdom committee to make sure I don’t perish alone somewhere along the trail. Grateful and humbled, I resist the devil in me to rebel against the good-hearted committee.

We breeze through the flats along the river, and turn uphill again. Bill keeps me on pace, and though I have to stop him once in a while when I need to take a rest, he keeps me from getting too comfortable. Pushing ahead is a good thing on a hike as long as this one.

We finally reach the bottom of Quarter Dome, and look ahead to the last, overwhelming challenges. We are humbled as we greet the first of our returning young warriors. We scale Quarter Dome together, step by grueling step up the intimidating rock, as the heat of the sun becomes a real factor.

My son, nephew, and Bill’s son greet us at the top—we share a solid moment of pride. I’m told my daughter is waiting for me at the top of Half Dome. (Hurry up!) Suddenly we find ourselves facing the daunting, final 900 vertical feet.

We have reached the steel cable climb at the peak of traffic hour. It is a quagmire of twisted flesh, hiker stench, and human anxiety. The penalty for falling is death, and several hikers turn back. There is no public shame or blame, but the private hell of failure lingers in the thin air.

Bill forges ahead of me--no point in thinking about it too long. I choose my gloves and begin the final agony. The line moves about twenty feet a minute. There are long periods of anxious waiting, stopped, feet wedged against railroad ties, hands clinging to the steel cable. Nothing like being suspended in the sky with a hundred of your stinky new best friends! I say prayers of petition for safety as I wait for the crowd ahead to move.

A few of my daughter’s friends pass by on their way down. They tell me she is on her way to climb with me. Later I hear her voice, and look up to see her shining face and waving arm. She is one incredible human being. I hear murmurs of good-for-you among the hikers around me—now here’s a lucky man with his beautiful daughter come to join him for the final push.

She forges ahead, but looks back patiently when I stop to rest. The last 900 feet are certainly what they are cracked up to be. We reach the summit. My heart is pounding like never before, and it takes a long time to recover my breath. Bill takes our picture.

The view is unforgettable. Here we are, victorious king and princess, humble before the Lord and His creation. We stand atop the monumental peak as our earth soars through the universe. We have been here before; we are here in eternity.

We snack on salty food, brush away the marmots, and check our water supplies. My daughter is soon ready to go. She’s been here over two hours now. My glory is fleeting.

We share our time of victory and glory with light talk as we climb down through the steel cables and Quarter Dome. We are the last of our group to head back, but the surrounding crowd is friendly, an extended family of champions. My daughter finally gives in to the urge to hustle forward. We have shared the critical stage. It’s time.

I re-gather my companions of the Spirit; Christ before me, Christ within me, come along Saints Peter and Paul, Our Blessed Mother is preparing the path ahead. The relief of the goal achieved transforms into peace. The journey back will be entirely different from the uphill hike.
The best way to bring on The Spirit is with prayer. I have about five hours to talk with God about anything and everything. I begin with prayers of thanks for the peace and joy I am enjoying on this journey, and move into my routine of rosary and prayers for a list of family, friends, and those I know with urgent needs.

The Spirit can grow on you in the same way that athletic skill grows with the repetition of practice. Discipline leads to understanding, and understanding leads to revelation and truth. Christ frees us from the tangled web of ego and desire. This freedom is a gift that allows us to live with true purpose. Aware of the physical beauty and reality of the immediate moment, contemplation lifts me into another realm, one that is forever sought and rarely achieved.

My daughter has left a secret trail of orange peels to tell me, “I am with you Dad. Keep moving--you’ll get there.” Spurred on by her message, a focus arises that pushes me through the peace that blankets the afternoon.

I stop at Nevada Falls to purify enough water to sustain hydration to the end of the trail. After a thirty-minute rest I set out on the last leg. Weariness sets in. The switchbacks refuse to end, but I am carried down the mountain on a mission to absorb every last minute of this incredible journey through His creation.

The shuttle bus ride from Happy Isles buys some time to prepare for the return to the group. Twelve and a half hours from home to the summit and home again. The group is gathered on camp chairs in front of our lodge rooms, and happy hour is in full swing. They erupt in cheers when I arrive. My wife rushes forward to greet me.

It doesn’t get any better than this.