MOVING MASS
The sun dips slowly toward the horizon as my legs dangle off the edge of the portaledge, swinging lazily above the 700m straight drop to the Yosemite Valley floor. I’ve been up on the mighty El Capitan for a week now, by myself, grinding away at the logistical puzzle that is solo aid climbing. My body is bruised, my hands are cracked and muscles ache that I didn’t know existed. Yet, as my humble dinner slowly heats up on the stove, the only expression my face can manage is to beam the biggest smile back at the incredible scene in front of me. Golden light ricochets back and forth across the walls of the valley. Half Dome stands proudly off in the distance, commanding the scene. I feel as if Robert Frost and Glen Denny are conspiring to create the perfect sunset and I’ve got the best seat in the house.
The tranquil, picture-perfect postcard scene is suddenly torn apart by a tremendous ruckus tearing the still air asunder. Rockfall! I think, as the sound of a
