2011ish
Morro Rock is “the Gibraltar of the Pacific”, the most famous of the Nine Sister Volcanic Peaks, and yet this leviathan 576 foot rock formation can not be conquered by even the most experienced climbers. Other than a handful of peregrine falcon biologists, and native Chumash Indians celebrating the once a year solstice ceremony, no one is allowed to climb it.
It has always been my dream to climb Morro Rock and write about it; I have plotted, planned, and researched the event, but never thought I could get it published, that is, until OJ Simpson published his “fictional” account called “If I did It” Confessions of a Killer. Well, if OJ can publish a book about a crime he denies committing, then I can write an article about climbing Morro Rock.. So, if I’d had climbed it, I would have done it like this..
As with any adventure, timing and preparation are essential. I scheduled to climb the night before a full moon, with forecasted visibility, so the natural light would illuminate the trail left there by the Chumash. I tracked the falcons mating cycle to ensure the climb wouldn’t put their procreation in danger. I am not an experienced climber so after purchasing some climbing gear I practiced repelling from the ceiling rafters in my living room. I gathered the gear involved in a clandestine climb; headlamp, swiss army knife, climbing harness, ropes, ninja outfit, wet suit (in case of water escape), flags to mark the trail, face mask, snacks, water, first aid kit, and bicycle.
The night of the climb I drove to Morro Rock and stashed my gear at the base of the trail. I parked the car in the nearby parking lot, attempting to blend in with the late night revelers at the Harbor Hut, although bar hoppers aren’t known to wear head to toe black, a face mask, and a backpack. I peddled as quickly as I could to the Rock, grabbed my gear and hid the bike in the brush.
I tip toed around searching for my planned trail. I said a quick prayer and began my ascent. As I plodded up the path, I was encircled by hundreds of noisy cackling birds, announcing their uninvited guest. I could see the morning headlines of The Tribune, ‘Woman dressed as ninja, attempted to climb Morro Rock.. Caught by cackling seagulls’. The climb was challenging, the path was overgrown and the light of the moon was dulled by thick clouds. The jagged bits of leaves and shrubbery pierced through my gloves, and more often than not, one step up, was followed by one step down, realizing that it was a dead end. Just as my frustration caused me to rethink the adventure, the clouds gave way and the light of the moon illuminated the stairway carved into the rocks, left by the Chumash Indians who used to freely climb up and down the rock to worship their Gods. I took this as a sign of their blessing, and skipped joyously up the rock carved path to the top.
By this time, I was so hot in my black ninja outfit, wet suit, and climbing gear, I quickly stripped most of it off just to feel the night’s ocean breeze. I basked in the 360 degree views of the Central Coast, as I imagined the days of maritime when ships were coming into and out of the harbor, using the rock as their guide. One look down at the dramatic drop into the treacherous sea made me realize my escape route of repelling into the ocean would have surely ended in my death. At the sight of this, the obnoxious birds took pity on me and quit cackling. The descent down was more challenging than the route up; thankfully, I had used small red flags to mark the path. I reached the bottom without detection, and just in time for last call. I quickly rode my bike to Otter Rock for a congratulatory cocktail, and toasted the Rock I just conquered.
*This is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.