The approach E.Z. Mantel. Random climbing crew on left, Disi seated on right.

An Essay by Brian Havenner

The United States was three years deep into the worst economic depression we’d ever seen, or will see. The year was 1932. Two Californians were driving through Palm Springs California on Highway 111 during the dog days of summer. They were enjoying the heat of Los Angeles’ favorite desert getaway. Until the realization that something could be better set in. Carl Barkow looked up at Mount San Jacinto and said “Wouldn’t it be nice to be up there on the mountain right now?” Barkow was, we’ll say, somewhat of the media mogul of the Coachella Valley. Carl was with an Electrical Engineer from Colorado named Francis Crocker. Prior to this conversation, the only way to get on the mountain was to hike up to the top. A hike that depending on the route is 20 or so miles and 10,000 feet of elevation gain. This conversation is often credited as the birth of what would become the Palm Springs Aerial Tram.

Admittedly, I do not often think about the minutiae of the moments that have led to my pure bliss. When it comes to Mount San Jacinto things have always been different. My journey to Mount San Jacinto, was an odyssey of sorts, looking back it feels like a dream. An ordinary Sunday in August of 2022. It was the kind of day that unfolds like any other, until it doesn't. I was having an Americano at Communal Coffee in South Park, San Diego. I was sitting in their overflow sidewalk seating area. Across the table from me was a cute climber gal I had just met, named Disi. To be completely honest, I had no business being on this coffee date. I was barely five months out of a messy separation from a marriage of almost a decade.

But here I was, on a date, in San Diego, with a girl I had met on a dating app. She liked that I said “I want to find a partner I can adventure with, and without, but reconvene and share about what we experienced while we were apart.” As is often the case on a first date, I was attempting to impress her. During this conversation, it was with my renewed passion for climbing. Our small talk flowed and danced between topics, from the enchantment of South Park to aspirations of conquering the San Diego Five Peak Challenge. Amidst our shared stories of upbringing, Disi's anecdotes painted vivid pictures of Imperial Beach juxtaposed with the harsh reality of environmental challenges. There are tales, trailing the Tijuana Slough surf break, reminiscent of the revered lore of Mavericks. I chuckled at the notion but still found myself mourning the loss. Our connection felt real as we sat there on Fern Street. I pondered what could be over our cups of coffee. Of course, it has to be understood that this was my perspective.

A few days later, I tossed her message with the hopefulness of the ancients sending a carrier pigeon across the great unknown. I casually expressed my fondness for her company, boldly hinting at the prospect of future encounters. Her reply? "I’m still feeling out the vibe." At that point, I was in the midst of shaking off years of emotional inertia, breaking out of layers of cagey dissociation. Her blunt honesty was more of a splash of ice cold water in the desert of my emotional landscape. To be honest, I would have preferred a warm hug. Although, it was a reminder that honesty beats ambiguity any day.

Then, like a bolt from the blue, came her next message: an invitation to go bouldering on Mount San Jacinto. With the summer sun gearing up to scorch San Diego, fleeing east to Palm Springs and ascending to cooler heights via the aerial tram sounded like pure genius. A synergy of adventure and escape that resonated deeply. I don’t remember the exact details of what happened next, but I’m sure this was the moment I tipped my glass to Barkow and Crocker.

Before we set off on this journey to one of Southern California's finest bouldering epicenters, let's pause for a moment of reflection. As I mentioned earlier, this tale is indeed an odyssey. The trail that brought me to this juncture traces back to Leucadia, California. Winding its way through the sunkissed streets named after various ancient Greek gods before meandering to the chillier surroundings of St. Charles, Illinois. There my life imploded under years of what I have described as a lack of ability to advocate for myself, love myself and be true to myself. A rocky marriage of a decade had reached its end terminus in heartbreak and destruction.

In the middle of that pain and agony, I connected with a friend and coworker, Connor. He had just watched The Dawn Wall and wanted to get into climbing. Just hearing that title jettisoned me back to my time in Southern California. Conversations over beers with my friends James and Matt who were in the valley when Tommy Caldwell and Kevin Jorgenson were attempting their free climb of The Dawn Wall. Later that week, Connor and I met up in Avondale, Illinois to get our sendy sendy on at First Ascent Gym. I look back on that session with a mix of shame and joy. I used the whole climbing session as therapy for my failing marriage. Connor, in a show of support and maybe to get me to take a beat, finally said, “Take that frustration out on the wall.” The twists and turns of life are guided by breadcrumbs and signposts, and that moment was one of the more sustaining breadcrumbs.

A few weeks later, I found myself packing up what I could fit of my life into my Nissan Frontier, and attempting to begin again in Spokane, Washington. In some ways, Spokane was my Ogygia and the natural wonders surrounding eastern Washington and northern Idaho were my Calypso. I’m sure native westsiders would say the opposite, but to me, Spokane was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. But at the end of the runway, I was alone and sad, and winter was coming. So as Odysseus had done thousands of years prior, I chose what I thought was my Ithaca, and my Penelope–more commonly known as San Diego.

I went back to my former place of employment in Encinitas, but the transfer wasn’t as smooth as I had hoped. I found myself doing a lot of sulking. I was spending all my free time writing and working on graphic design. I didn’t want to spend money, but I also knew I needed to change my relationship with money and start saying yes to the things that would make me come alive. As I read that text, I responded by saying, “Absolutely, let’s go!”

A couple of days later, we exchanged some texts about the gear we’d need. I was browsing the displays at a well-known outdoor gear shop when Disi called. I took a deep breath, ready for anything, and answered, “Hey, Disi!” Her voice was as smooth as a sip of whiskey. After a bit of small talk, she asked, “Can you check if you can rent a crash pad?” Without missing a beat, I replied, “I’ll make it happen.”

It was the day before our excursion, so it was too late to rent anything. I disregarded my general stinginess to spending money and bought a new Metolius crash pad. I’ve often said that as an adult, my experience at gear stores is the closest I’ll get to the feeling I had as a child going to Toys r Us with my mom back in the 90s. And going to bed the night before an outdoor climbing trip is the closest I’ll ever get to how I felt as a child about going to bed on Christmas Eve.

Disi picked me up early Saturday morning, and we headed north-east towards Palm Springs. The reality of going on a climbing trip with someone who, a week previously, was a stranger on the internet hadn’t fully sunk in. As a man, this was probably less weird than for the woman behind the wheel of the silver Subaru Forester. In addition to my climbing gear I packed snacks from Trader Joe’s and a couple of beers, the necessary accouterments. Along the drive, to make conversation, I told Disi that I had been practicing aikido martial arts, the art of “unifying with life energy” or essentially redirecting energy to protect both the defender and the attacker. I wasn’t personally practicing for self-defense, but to learn how to gracefully fall while bouldering.

After a nice and smooth drive that included one pitstop to use a Target bathroom, we arrived at the base of the mountain. The parking lot was full. I started to wonder if we should have left an hour or two earlier. As we walked into the San Jacinto Welcome Center, there were two police officers searching bags. I thought about the two beers I had packed. As a man battling anxiety, I was immediately worried they’d say they weren’t allowed and arrest me or send me packing. I nervously handed over my backpack and one officer just felt around the outside of my bag. He didn’t look inside. I was good to go. Disi actually opened her bag for them to have a look inside. The officers motioned for us to proceed and politely told us to “have a nice time.”

Waiting in the “terminal” for our tram, I would’ve assumed that we were the only ones going up to boulder, except there were two dudes who went up on the tram before ours and one of them had a crash pad. So, by my estimation, there would be at least 4 people bouldering. Little did I know, I was wildly underestimating how many people would be up there. Before we could get on the tram, we posed for the cheesy green screen photo. I think I was more excited about it than Disi. I’m fairly certain in our climbing duo, she only invited me because everyone else said they were busy. Whereas I had the excitement of an adopted rescue puppy thinking, “This is the only climbing/adventure friend I would ever need.”

The trip to the top is amazing. San Jacinto is an alpine island in the middle of the desert. At 10,000+ feet, the tram allows you to see the dramatic changes in the mountain’s microclimates as you make the relatively quick ascent. Disi and I got on our tram surrounded by a bunch of what I would call normies. A friendly woman wanted to know all about our crash pads and what we were doing. She explained she did some climbing when she was younger. I can only assume that she wanted us to believe she was part of the stone masters in Yosemite Valley or something. And to be honest, I want to believe that she was. As we got to the top, the air was refreshingly cooler than the desert below. We refilled our water bottles, walking past the ranger station. The rangers saw our crash pads and informed us that to go bouldering, climbers have to fill out a free permit form. You drop the pink copy off and return the original when you leave. That way, if you go missing and don’t return your top sheet, they’ll know to send out a search party.

After properly permitting, we started making the approach to “the dance floor” where many of the good boulder projects are found. We had the comprehensive bouldering guidebook for the area, thanks to Disi and her impeccable planning.* But we got overzealous and made a turn into the wilderness too soon. We made a pretty arduous trek into unknown San Jacinto territory. After about twenty minutes, I started feeling a bit lost, and having trouble gaining my bearings on account of never having been there before. Then in the distance, in a clearing ahead, we saw a lone human with a crash pad. I had been pretending to play it cool, but I was relieved. We had apparently emerged from the wilderness and according to the guidebook, were entering Shangri-La. We stumbled upon a boulder that looked promising in the guidebook. We took off our crash pads and backpacks (which were more like front packs) and sat down in front of the boulder to get going. It was a welcome relief though when after being on the road for 2 hours and then hiking for a bit, Disi suggested that we have a little snack first. As a certified grazer, this suggestion sounded fantastic to me. We enjoyed some ciabatta, a few Trader Joe’s chile lime rolled tortilla chips (most people just call them Takis, but I’m trying not to half-ass this story) and some dried mango. After our snack, we set up our crash pads, put on our climbing shoes, chalked up and started studying what could be the beta. I’m not sure who attempted the problem first, but I explained that for my first few attempts I was going to just practice falling. I had not bouldered in nature in over 10 years. Now in my early to mid late thirties, feeling the exhilaration of falling on the crash pad felt wise to me. First reminding her about my Aikido journey quickly morphed into whenever we fell, we blurted out “AIKIDO!” I’m not sure how Morihei Ueshiba (the founder of Aikido) would feel about this flippant use of the name of his martial arts practice, but it made for some good laughs and breaking of ice.

Once we had brushed off the rust of climbing outdoors and noodling around on the first boulder problem, we trekked further until we found “Abba Boulder.” It looked fun and there was no one on any of the routes. It had multiple problems ranging from an unnamed v0 up to a v10. The middle problem was a v3, simply described as “unnamed crack.” Neither of us really knew the beta for it, we stacked both crash pads to jump up to the first hold. It felt a little sketchy and loose, like it was about to break off. I stretched my right leg out for a heel hook on a distant sloper. I quickly scanned for the next hold. I lost my grip fast…

“AIKIDO!”

Disi tried next. She went for the same hold, and she quickly let go. She just hopped down onto her feet, but then reached up to grab the hold and pulled out the loose rock. It was indeed a loose chunk of rock that had seemingly just been placed into a section of the rock. The new hold, sans loose rock was actually better because it was a few inches lower. After a few attempts and neither of us getting that sweet full send we longed for. We moved to the side of the rock that was called “unnamed problem.” It had a v0 grade. I think there’s this desire to impress someone you have a crush on and do this amazing thing to look cool. Admittedly, sending a v0 is not really that impressive. At the time, I was a man still very much in the vanguard of manhood (to be honest, even on a good day I still am), so I thought I still needed to impress Disi with masculine prowess. Looking back, sending an outdoor problem was a win for myself. At the time, I just didn’t want to look like a failure in front of Disi. I didn’t need a win, but I really wanted a win, even if it was an introductory level problem. I went for it first. The holds were kind of nice, not quite jugs but more sustaining than crimps. I was getting towards the top and missed a foothold. I fell fast into a seated criss-cross applesauce position. I didn’t even have time to scream aikido for that fall. Disi said I should try again. This time I knew my mistake and sent it on the second attempt. My exuberance was so over the top, had a baseball umpire been present, they surely would have taken notes for their sell out antics. Disi went next. Disi, being the stronger climber, flashed it. I pulled out my phone to take a picture of her moment of joy. She looked away with shyness, but help up a proud peace sign to document the moment. Since this problem was unnamed, in jest I said we should unofficially call it the “Brisi” problem. I still need to submit this name to the author of the Tramway Bouldering Guidebook for their next edition.

By then, I was ready for a beer and some more snacks. Another group of fellow climbers showed up and started making progress on the v9 problem, E.Z. Mantel. We sat and watched them for a while. They all tried pretty hard to get it, but none of them could quite send it. Finally, out of the woods appeared the guy I mentioned earlier from the tram before ours. Seeing him in his element, he carried himself as the Benny “The Jet” Rodriguez of bouldering. I learned that his name was Henry. He studied the beta for a few seconds, and if my memory serves me correct, Henry flashed that v9 on the spot. This may be the only anecdote of this story that is embellished.

Disi and I decided it was time to move on. I asked if we could check out a boulder route called Jug's-a-plenty. I felt a tiny bit of awkwardness asking if we could find that one, given the type of hold that is (perhaps) somewhat degrading to women. Being that it’s a male-dominated activity, I imagine it's similar to how French fur trappers saw the Grand Tetons in Wyoming and thought, “Boobs!” The highlight of the conversation on the way there was the difference between men and women’s answers on dating apps for “biggest risk they’ve taken.” I told Disi, for women the answer was often, “quitting their job and moving across the country.” Disi said the “worst” one she read was “not pulling out.” We both laughed at the cringe and I felt better about my decision. We got to ”Jugs-a-plenty.” It was quite straightforward and neither of us thought it was worth putting our climbing shoes on to attempt it. We opted to hike around and check out the rest of the area before eventually starting the journey back down to Palm Springs.

When we arrived back at the ranger station, which was now abandoned, we returned our permits. I thought out loud, 'it looks like if you get lost out there, you’re at least on your own for one night because no one is checking these slips tonight.” There’s a carved wooden placard on the ranger station that reads, “May the peace of the wilderness be with you.” I ruminated on that parting blessing as I walked back to the tram.

We made our way onto our tram, surrounded by all the normies again. Over the speaker, “Sweet Caroline” started playing. The entire tram burst out singing the chorus. It had a slight post-apocalyptic feel to the whole thing, but I felt comforted that although our reasoning for being on this particular tram may have varied, we could all connect on a certified Neil Diamond banger. When we got down into the parking lot, I had a small feeling of nostalgia as a couple of fellow climbers were lounging in the back of their hatchback before heading home themselves. I asked them “did you have fun up there” and they replied “hell yeah!” As Disi and I loaded up her Subaru, one of them offered us what was left of a container of cut watermelon. We both declined, opting to save room for tacos. That small gesture, to me, does summarize what can be amazing about the climbing community that I know and love; longing for connection and kindness.

We found a decent looking Mexican spot in Palm Springs, even though the sun had long since set, it was still stiflingly hot in the desert city. We still chose to sit outside on the patio. We both ended up ordering flautas, and they were the best tasting flautas of all time.

The long and dark drive back to San Diego was filled with more deep chats. Our conversational dance touched on religion, traveling abroad, battles with addictions, abortion etc. I was smitten. But in the end, I was nowhere near ready to be a good partner and I think Disi could see that I was closed off. A few days later over texts, we agreed to just remain friends rather than try to pursue anything more. Our adventure on San Jacinto taught me some of the most important lessons I could have learned at the time. It’s not enough to say yes to what will make me feel alive. It's about doing the work of looking inside myself. To understand the deep complexity of what it means to be a human on this crazy wild planet. I was slowly learning, to be a good partner for someone, I needed to do the work to love myself. It was a gift to have that experience and see what the life I longed for could look like. I had been going to therapy for a while and when my marriage was imploding, my therapist related that chapter of my life to ancient mythologies. In many of those stories, the turning point starts when the main character starts to see the future come into focus, but there’s an in-between where the vision of that future is still blurry. My trip to San Jacinto was a pivotal moment of realization to start creating the life I wanted to live and sending it in earnest.

*epilogue: This is a story of a real bouldering trip to Mount San Jacinto. It is hard to find any write ups of this sacred southern California Mountain that do not quote John Muir, and I would like to pat myself on the back for flashing my first attempt at that feat. Most of the names have been changed for anonymity purposes. The name Disi is the Chamorro word for Desert. Chamorro is the indigenous language of the Mariana Islands people. I do not remember the name of the guidebook Disi brought; therefore, I cannot corroborate all of the boulder problems we attempted. Someday, I will return to the Tramway, and revisit some of these problems. The problems I did name were verified by scouring Mountain Project to verify/decipher which problems I could indeed remember.

Brian Havenner is the founder of Piassa Climate Media, a media company focused on telling stories about the one thing we cannot get back if climate change becomes climate destruction, the outdoors. He’s an avid outdoor enthusiast and if you see him at any of the crags or trails, try not to roll your eyes when he makes every analogy be about baseball.

Falling in Love on Mount San Jacinto

Montagne