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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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?
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| 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.
