By jonasPulling at my memories, I vividly recall the daunting sight of Half Dome's sheer face during the brutal, wildfire-riddled year of 2020. The daunting ropes, a pathway to our adventure, hung over the edge, crisscrossing their way up the mountain. Audrey and I, my youthful, fit daughter, stood at the base, engulfed in the bizarre orange-yellow haze from the surrounding wildfires, looking up at the challenge that loomed before us.
Our mission: a 14-mile round-trip hike culminating with the perilous climb up, and more terrifying, down the face of Half Dome. The concept was simple, keep one foot in front of the other, grip the ropes tightly, and avoid slipping on the slick granite. All the must-dos to survive on this grim day. The fear was as present as the smoke that cloaked us. Audrey, being much younger, may have been scared – I know I was. But age is not a savior from fear, not when you're hanging off the side of a mountain. With alleviation washing over us, having successfully navigated the treacherous climb, we still had seven miles of journey left. It's funny, we survived the mounting cliff only to be bested by hurrying our steps back along the trail. My ankle twisted, the consequence of our haste, and the final stretch became a grim hobble through the darkening day.
Relief did arrive, albeit a little late, when together Audrey and I reconnecting with family, sharing a meal, toasting survival with beers, and the sweet surrender to the call of sleep. The ordeal? Yes. But it was more, a remarkable bonding experience with Audrey. It was a dangerous expedition, a challenging episode which only strengthened our bond and wrote a unique chapter in the annals of our family story.