Ain't No Mountain High Enough

9.1.18

Rebecca and I had been discussing a trip to the Linville River Gorge for half a year but logistics, nursing school, and a summer apart had thus far prohibited it. Now, a rainy week all over the Southeast looked to thwart a planned Labor Day trip. Becca's fourth semester of nursing school was already in full swing and coaxing her into potentially festering in a tent for a rainy weekend in the woods was not looking promising.

I was uncharacteristically adamant, however, because I had a ring I was eager to put on her finger.

Table Rock is a gentle giant on the eastern ridge of the gorge with moderate slabs and spectacular views of the rolling hills of western North Carolina. My plan was to wake up and climb a relaxing link-up of routes up Table Rock, hike down, and spend the day relaxing at the base before climbing back up via the North Ridge route to propose just before sunset.

A mountaintop engagement. Fool proof. Romantic.

Table Rock at dusk

So I pushed and I pushed for us to go on this trip. I knew if it wasn't this weekend, I'd have to propose soon (we were well into the wedding planning process) and I'd have to propose somewhere around Chattanooga -- not "lame" per say, but not what I wanted. Becca reluctantly agreed and the trip was on.

It started poorly. The rigors of nursing school made unexpected demands of Becca that made leaving town hard. Labor Day weekend traffic combined with folks headed to Knoxville for the University of Tennessee's first football game against the West Virginia Mountaineers made the northbound journey up I-75 fairly hellacious and incredibly frustrating.

In the cab of my Toyota Tacoma, there were long periods of silence as we each got caught in our own heads. She, thinking about how much school work she could be getting done. Me, questioning whether I should propose under such stressful circumstances. We, both feeling frustrated stopped and got some Chick-Fil-A and everything seemed to be on the up and up. In good alpine style, the only way out was to keep moving up.

The drive to Linville from Chattanooga requires long stretches on backcountry mountain highways and finishes with a long, windy, poorly maintained forest service road to the top of the Table Rock formation high above the river gorge. Our five hour drive took more than seven, it was well after midnight, and we were both tired and setting up the tent in the dark was a harsh and unwelcomed reality.

The night was uncharacteristically warm for the North Carolina mountains. I think I slept 2 hours --  the egg crate dimples on my yellow Therma-Rest filled with puddles of sweat as I tossed and turned thinking and overthinking the proposal. I hadn't been this nervous since my first multi-pitch climb, somewhere in the high desert forests of New Mexico.

After an eternity of the hot dark, morning finally came. We ate breakfast. I hid the ring in the pack. We racked up and hiked in to the classic starter route, "Jim Dandy" (5.4). The first pitch is a short bolted slab to a comfy ledge. Quick and easy. The second launches up into the blue Carolina sky and traverses up and, for the uninitiated, into the unknown.

Becca turns the corner on pitch 2 of Jim Dandy

I suppose this is a good time to say that this was Rebecca's first multi-pitch. Together we've climbed plenty on the 60-80 ft sandstone walls around Chattanooga but this was our first extended foray into the vertical world. At the second belay, the exposure began to settle in. I could see it in her eyes: we were high, the trees were small, and there was substantial air under our feet and a lot more stone above our heads. Luckily, the aptly named Lunch Ledge was one quick pitch away.

At the ledge, I knew things were bad when I asked Becca if she wanted to stop and eat and she came back with a stern and emphatic, "No. Let's just keep going." This is coming from the same girl who brings two grocery bags of snacks whilst climbing at the Obed! Fear filled her voice.  Doubt filled my mind. How did I think that this obviously scary thing would obviously not be scary? Why, in my planning, did I not ever consider this possibility? I accounted for alternative routes, escape plans, emergency rappels, even dropped engagement rings (God forbid). But I failed to think about this. Do I dare ask her to marry me now?

entering the Lunch Ledge

What do I do? Do we try another route? Do I propose or not?! My head was foggy and preoccupied as I led off into "K-Mart Special" (5.6), a link-up pitch between the Lunch and Lightning Ledges. "K-Mart" moves through intimidating looking roofs that give way to joyously large jugs to keep the grade easy. But protection is scant and the ancient piton that reveals the path of least resistance was camouflaged in the lichen. I knew I wasn't going to fall but Becca, down at the belay, only saw her boyfriend -- twenty feet above his last piece and a near factor 2 fall past the anchor -- looking impossibly lost high on a wall with no other way down. More reason for her to fear.

After the roofs, "K-Mart" ascends slopers to a particularly sandbagged bulge. Well protected by a bolt, the crux guards the Lightning Ledge and the escape scramble to the summit. When Becca arrived at the belay, a single tear was running down her cheek. My decision was made: it had to be at the top of this route. All or nothing.

We stayed tied in and pitched out the traverse across the Lightning Ledge and the 3rd class scramble to the summit. All in all, Becca's first multi-pitch climb was six pitches total, from the bottom of Table Rock to the top. In my over zealous foolishness, I failed to adequately prepare her for the reality of exposed climbing in the mountains -- even if they are the eroded Appalachians. I was reminded that everything in climbing is relative: height, difficulty, fear, and fun. I took that for granted and I learned my lesson.

But I had a more pressing task before me: asking the love of my life, my best friend, and an amazing woman to spend the rest of her life with me. I had planned on proposing at the top of Table Rock's "North Ridge" because of its exposed northern point with expansive views of the Linville Gorge and the Blue Ridge Mountains. I had to devise a plan to get her over there. 

It took some coaxing -- why wander further down the mountain when we just topped the damned thing out? -- but we made our way past some photo-taking tourists to the top of the North Ridge. I set my phone on video against a rock and fidgeted to get the ring out of the pack while Becca had her back turned. As she asked the very reasonable question, "Hey, how do we get back down from here?" I clumsily fell to one knee.

In the moment, I forgot every planned statement I rehearsed in the mirror and I fumbled out the words, "Rebecca... King... will you... marry me?"

This moment is video'd. It is hard for me to watch. I sound like an absolute doofus. A goober. An oaf. It is not anywhere as romantic as I planned or expected. It is, however, a fitting end to the day. A day that did not go as planned or expected but ended very well all the same. There's probably some deeper meaning here about relationships, about marriage, and about life.

We laughed and we cried and we looked out upon the rolling hills of the Appalachians and the horizon of our lives.