The Invite I Almost Turned Down
I was first introduced to rock climbing at 9 years old and immediately fell in love with the sport. I’d hear the older climbers talk about legends—like Lynn Hill being the first person to free climb The Nose in a day—and about iconic places like Yosemite, Joshua Tree, and Lover’s Leap, which gained even more notoriety after a speed record was set by the late, great Dan Osman.
After all these years of climbing, I had still never made the voyage to touch the granite at Lover’s Leap… until recently.
A close friend of mine sent me a reminder text that she was heading to Tahoe and had an extra seat if I wanted to join. My immediate instinct was to say, “Thank you, but I won’t be able to make it—I have work to finish up this weekend.” But something felt different. For one, the work I had was the same work I always have—it just requires a Wi-Fi connection. And second, my kids were on vacation in Hawaii with their mom and aunt for the weekend—meaning I was kid-free too.
It felt like the stars had aligned. After a few texts back and forth, I replied, “I’ve never been, so I don’t see why this wouldn’t work!” She responded, “Tahoe or Bust!”
Climbing Into the Unknown
We met Friday morning and started the long drive up. Since we’re both mountain lovers, we chose the 395 route—likely longer, but way more scenic. Along the way, we stopped at Mono Lake to snap a few photos. It was there I realized I had never been further north than that lake… and the magic of a new journey really started to kick in.
Normally I know where I’m going. I plan, I lead, I feel a sense of ownership over how things unfold. But this was different. I was stepping into the unknown—a new place, new people, and letting someone else take the wheel, literally and metaphorically.
Not knowing feels vulnerable—but so does climbing. We launch into the unknown all the time in climbing. That’s what gives it life. It’s the energy and excitement of trying something that isn’t guaranteed. That same sense of wonder is what I carried into this trip—openness to meeting people, hearing their stories, and learning why they call the places they love home.
THE PEOPLE WE MEET
I met guides who had a deep passion not just for the sport, but for people. You could feel it in their smiles and their encouraging words. I met an adventure outfitter who helps people gear up for their next outdoor pursuit. His passion for the wild places that shaped him was obvious—and it fueled his desire to help others experience it too.
Loversleap Guides hosting the Adopt-A-Crag cleanup and climbing clinic at Lover’s Leap Crag near Lake Tahoe, CA.
Further down the road, we met a man, Jeff, who gave up his career in photography in the 90s when digital took over. Rather than pivoting to something new, he leaned into what he loved—camping, fishing, and cooking great BBQ. We sat at his roadside restaurant, Mountain View BBQ, and ate some of the best ribs I’ve had in years, reflecting on how similar his story felt to what many are facing now with AI. He didn’t chase the trend—he chased meaning.
Make sure to stop at the World-Famous, Mountain View Barbeque in Coleville, CA off the 395 for great BBQ and conversation.
These conversations reminded me how uncertain life really is. Most people don’t end up where they are because of perfect planning. Life is uncertain—but connection isn’t. The spirit of adventure lies in connection—to people, places, and shared experience. It reminded me of the time my family and I left everything behind to go live simply in Yosemite National Park—to reconnect, slow down, and just be.
RECKLESS OR RIGHT?
This trip was full of climbing, swimming, paddleboarding in crystal-clear alpine lakes, soaking in hot springs, and camping beside creeks that bubbled us to sleep. We pushed ourselves in ways that went beyond the physical. Bonds were formed, friendships deepened, and something inside me realigned.
Top to bottom: rock climbing at Lover’s Leap, view of Fallen Leaf Lake, climber at anchors on Hogsback Crag, thermal hot springs, view of Sheelite Canyon, creekside campsite.
There are too many incredible places and moments to experience in one lifetime—and it often feels like time is running out. Saying yes to bold adventures—without knowing how things will turn out, how bills will get paid, or whether it’s the “right time”—can feel irresponsible. But maybe it’s the right kind of irresponsibility. Maybe normalizing the word “yes” and valuing experiences as the highest form of wealth is what we’re all actually looking for.
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