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When I was a teenager, I would often free climb on the mountain beyond our house in Yosemite Valley. My siblings, cousins and friends had been climbing cliffs and boulders our whole lives, and I thought I was pretty good at it. It seemed to be an easy trip up, looking for hand and footholds, using cracks, pits, pocks, vegetation or whatever to hoist myself up higher and higher. Once the objective is reached you simply retrace your steps, right? Well sometimes. Climbing on the north side of the valley, somewhere near North Dome Gully, I wasn't paying attention. Paying attention is an important attribute in any pursuit. You might get some skin off your nose if it is in a book(or nowadays texting) and walk into a tree, but usually don't get a serious or fatal injury. My brother Matt, who was an awesome athlete and climber when young, once told me that it was climbing that taught him how to really pay attention. Another way of putting it may be to be mindful, to be in the moment. He never left checking his gear to his climbing partner. He always always checked it himself. That has served him well I am sure, through all his years of fishing the wild Alaskan waters in his and his wife Ceri's little boat, the Helen A. 

North Dome Gully isn't a picnic hike, like going up the Mist Trail, or the Four Mile Trail.  Not a real trail, it is more of a scramble than a hike, and it is easy to get off route if you are not mindful. So; seventeen years old, athletic and in good shape, I started off alone one summer afternoon. It was fortunate that it was summer with its long light days. Did I tell anyone where I was going? No, I didn't. I loved pitting myself against the mountain, conquering it a piece at a time. Being outside, being young, being unafraid, it was all so glorious. Everything was swell until I noticed that I had somehow gotten in a place where I could not see how to proceed, either up or down. Hmmm....what to do? Break open the gorp or trail mix to the uninitiated. So I sat on that ledge for hours, eating gorp and watching the shadows move across the canyon announcing the wan of the day. Though summer, it was beginning to get cold. I did not fancy spending the night there without gear, food, water, or another soul knowing where I was. This was the moment of reckoning. I looked at the chasm between the ledge I was on, and freedom, about 5 or 6 feet across. Loving sports, I had participated in events like the running broad jump, 100-yard dash, and more. The trouble with this situation was the 800 or so vertical feet of air between me and the rocks below, no chance to build up speed and momentum, and a chance that I wouldn't make it. Soooo...I jumped with my heart in my mouth, and made it! Whew! That wasn't so bad. 

  Sometimes you have to take risks to save your life, and, if you pay attention, the best path may reveal itself to you if you don't panic. This can be true in big ways as well as small. When my children were little, I switched from oils to pastel, thinking it would be a safer and quicker medium. Although I enjoyed pastel for many years, I missed oil, but I was in a rut. I felt like a rank beginner, having been away from them for so long. Nonetheless, I am loving oil again, and loving my paintings. Is there something you want to do, somewhere you want to go? What is holding you back? If you are ledged out, and can't go up or down, maybe it is time for that wild leap