I gaze down from the top of a sheer, blinding granite slab. Fifty
meters below me swell dances over rock cloaked in kelp, swirling and receding
and gathering in a mesmerizing dance to peak and crest in white spirals. Vibrant
green stalks and broad leaves sway just below the water’s surface as waves
churn against the rock’s white dips and crevices, twisting and tugging kelp
against aqua depths as water draws, surges and ebbs again in a mesmerizing,
rhythmic, oxygen-rich frenzy.
We scramble, squeeze and press our way down the sea cliffs to narrow ledges just
above the water, where yellow and black bands mark the tide line. Stripey
orange crabs and snail shells crowd crevices beneath us. The sea heaves against
our granite pedestal as we lay out our rope and begin climbing. Swell impacts
boulders protruding from the water, catapulting spray high above our heads.
I find myself drawn into a semi-meditative state as I follow
the familiar comfort of cracks and corners up Whitewater Wall. The water’s
rhythmic surge and rush drown any other ambient noise, including my gear’s
metallic clink against the rock. Verbal communication with my partner becomes impossible,
containing me in a minute world.
