"I've got a girl in Squamish"

On chasing adventure and love. And how to make decisions, the easy way.

This post is one of my periodic personal narratives. Thanks for reading. 🙏

I loved this photo when I took it more than 20 years ago. Still love the photo. Still love the man.

The mountains are always calling to me.

When we leave, I ache. The rock is tethered to a piece of me, and it’s ripping my soul apart to leave it behind.

In summer, I dream of flying over rose-colored granite, running down sparkling slabs, hopping from one 10,000-foot peak to another. In winter, I wake to the sound of rain where I live, knowing it’s snowing in the mountains. To fall back asleep, I imagine myself hiking up my favorite snowy peak, one crunching step at a time, my rapid, hard-working breath the only sound.

There’s only one thing that rules me more than the mountains.

I remembered what that is last week while chatting with a rock climber in Tuolumne Meadows, a magical place in California’s Sierra Nevada.

The meadows are Yosemite National Park’s high country, with glittering creeks, golden trout, frogs, wildflowers, marmots, deer, bears, butterflies, and the most eclectic gathering of mountain lovers from all over the world. To spend time here is to hike, climb, scramble, swim, fish, nap, snack, snuggle, and stargaze. The meadows sit at 8,000 feet of elevation and are surrounded by glacier-carved granite features with names like Cathedral Peak, Unicorn Peak, and Stately Pleasure Dome, reaching up to 13,000 feet.

Cell service is only available from one provider, not mine. The closest internet is 15 miles away. I wanted to check on my mom, who we’d left at home with a caregiver, so I cruised a parking lot for anyone who looked like a resident of sorts. After a few failed requests, I approached a small van with a young man putting on climbing shoes. He was thin and boyish, surprisingly clean and well-kempt for a person living in a van.

“Could I mooch a hotspot off you for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” he said, and seemed happy to welcome someone to talk to. When he shared his password, I laughed because it was a reference to slab climbing. We hit it off instantly.

Before long, we were reminiscing about all the wonderful places and adventures in Tuolumne. I told him how, two decades ago, I lived in my car here just like he was doing. We agreed that the people in Tuolumne are all kind to each other, perhaps because they are healed by the mountains.

He said he found it hard to leave. I peeked up from my phone to see his eyebrows slightly furled, a bit of worry about something.

“Oh, it’s corporate slavery out there. Stay here as long as you can,” I said.

He chuckled.

“I remember swearing to myself that I would never leave,” I said. “But, you know, life happens.”

He nodded.

I’d promised my family I’d return in 10 minutes. Check on my mom, check if there were any other worldly emergencies, then shut the phone off again and go hike to an alpine lake. I sat in the shade of a lodgepole pine. Large black ants crawled among the pine needles, and a bright orange butterfly flew by.

Mormon fritillary in Tuolumne, author photo

He rattled off a few peaks and plans, and I joined in the glee and affirmation of those fabulous adventures. But at some point, as I stared down at my phone, he said, “I’ve got a girl in Squamish.”

I’m a person with 20 things going on in my head at any given time, so it took a few moments for my brain to home in on the words.

“Oh yeah? I always heard people rave about Squamish, but I never went. This place is too perfect for me. … What’s she doing in Squamish?”

“Oh, you know, she didn’t want to live in a van all summer.”

Then it kind of slapped me. Oh god, the longing in his voice! It had been flitting about, coming and going like that beautiful butterfly, during the entire conversation.

And I thought to myself, Wait, what? You’ve got a girl in Squamish? What are you doing here? How many people would die to have a “girl in Squamish”?!

I realized I’d been providing all kinds of affirmation without knowing a thing about him. I’ve just completed another turn around the sun. How is it that each year I feel less wise and more humble? I’ve been training myself to listen more and give less advice. But this, this was torture, looking in on his dilemma from the outside, from years beyond such dilemmas. The answer was so obvious, it hurt.

I decided it would be fine to give this young soul a nudge. I slid my phone into my pocket. I stood and stepped closer to his van. And I spoke as softly as I could.

“You know, true love does not come around that often.”

He began to talk, to explain, to tell the story, really a whole lot of “blah, blah, blah” about almost breaking up.

Listening to him made me remember a therapist who would tell me, “No more story; the explanation doesn’t matter. Get out of your head and into your body.” And when she said “head,” she’d make a cutting gesture with her finger at her neck like she was slicing her head off, and when she said “body,” she would pat her heart.

So I gently interrupted his explaining.

“I don’t mean to get all ‘Princess Bride’ on you, but true love is worth fighting for.”

He slowed down finally and said, “Yeah, I’ve never been in love before. But this feels pretty real.”

I nodded. Bingo. I knew it. I felt for him.

When I’m gripped with indecision, it’s like being stuck inside a sharp dodecahedron, each facet reflecting a dozen times a dozen sides, all of them filled with infinite possibilities. I’ve often told myself an obvious point: “The only way to get unstuck is to MOVE FORWARD.” I probably learned that from rock climbing, since you can’t hang out in one spot for too long without growing exhausted.

But talking to this youngling reminded me of another guiding principle: CHOOSE LOVE.

These are all false dichotomies: Love versus mountains, mountains versus career, career versus love, solitude versus love, family versus career, and adventure versus family.

Love IS forward. Love is the foundation, the building blocks, the roof, and the lovers cozied up inside. Love is the cone, the ice cream, the topping, and the mouth eating it all. Love is the sweaty, hot trail and cool, serene destination. Love is the game and the prize. Love is the question and the answer. Choose your metaphor! Love is IT.

I thought of that moment so long ago, when I’d been wandering the mountains, and I’d been “taking a break.” That call rang with just one bar of coverage, that voice I could not help but love came on the line with an invitation I could not refuse. Whatever mountain was calling my name, whatever adventures were in store, whichever friends needed climbing partners — all were instantly forgotten. I dropped everything and went to him.

Did I ever regret that?

Never.

Twenty-something years ago, he and I rock climbed Cathedral Peak, topping out at 10,916 feet. Tomorrow, we’d hike to Cathedral Lakes with our 12-year-old daughter. We’d achieved love and mountains, both, and so much more. Through thick and thin, difficult times and easy, over and over again, I chose love.

I’d made the right decisions.

Cathedral Peak from Lower Cathedral Lake. Daughter’s photo.

I turned to leave the rock climber and his van and his tough choices. But I wanted to reinforce my message one last time. How to do it without giving a lecture? How not to shout: Don’t let her go! Follow your heart! The mountains will be here forever! She won’t! How to capture these decades of life and love and lack of regret in a few sentences?

I told him I, too, fell in love with a guy while I was addicted to Tuolumne. We stuck it out, and here we are, so many years later, our daughter in tow, still adventuring.

“You don’t have to give up climbing. You can have both. Life is long. I followed love, and it never did me wrong.”

I bowed with hands folded in namaste to him. When I raised my head, the most brilliant smile had taken over his face, and his puppy eyes were moist.

“Thank you,” he said.

A few minutes later, I walked into our campsite, and I gave my daughter a hug and my husband a kiss, all over again so in love.

Moonrise over Mount Lyell, the highest point in Yosemite National Park. Daughter’s photo.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round;

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

— Kubla Khan, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Flowers and seeds of Tuolumne. Author's and daughter's photos.

Other Yosemite-related posts from Earth Hope:

The ecologist who dared love Yosemite's frogs

Bathing in gentle bugs at the top of the world

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About Earth Hope:

Earth Hope is a solutions-based journalism project that highlights environmental success stories to inspire action. I’m Amanda Royal, a former newspaper reporter and current eco-news junkie. Read more about this project and what inspired it. Visit earthhope.substack.com for more stories.