October 22, 2015 on Salathe Headwall, El Capitan, Yosemite
Photo by Mike Holland
As climbers, we have the opportunity to get to know people in pieces and in places. Stay out there on the road long enough and that friend you make at a crag in one part of the world will turn up right beside you in another, months or years later. Over time, as this process repeats itself, you gain perspective on their lives, and how they’ve grown into who they are. You become extremely close to people you may rarely see.
When I first met Caleb, he was spending his winter break off from school in Jackson, Wyoming. We skied the mountain together, and would reconvene in the evenings at the local climbing gym. He was stronger than I was, younger than I was, and taller than I was. He was smart, confident, and soft spoken, and he always got really excited about food. In 2014, I moved into my car to travel and climb, and after Caleb graduated, he hit the road, too.
It was amazing to see him up in Canada, and around the Pacific Northwest; he had become a climbing and mountaineering guide for RMI, and was now based in Washington. I could tell he had found what he loved, and he was making it his career. His smile was getting bigger and bigger each time I saw him. We bouldered in Squamish, and climbed the wiggly cracks of Trout Creek in Oregon. Our friendship, put together one piece at a time, became a fixed whole.
A few seasons later, we found ourselves in Yosemite. His demeanor was no different than it always had been: gregarious and kind, a domineering sort of happiness that you couldn’t fight. But he was also maturing. It was clear that his time with RMI had gifted him with many mentors, and he wasn’t taking it for granted; every single thing they taught him, he learned in and out.
As we embarked up the Salathe, his erudition in the rock arts shined bright—the way he moved through systems, hauled our gear, and the easy-going demeanor with which he did it all belied the fact that this was his first time up the big stone.
Those few days will always be remembered in my mind as the moment I realized how important Caleb was to me. At the top of El Cap Spire, below the infamous tight hands pitch that takes you into the upper reaches of the route, I sat exhausted in the dark. We had been pushing hard all day to get here, and now that we had finally arrived, Caleb was telling me to keep going. “You told me we need to fix the next two pitches for tomorrow, bud,” he said to me as he jummared up onto the massive ledge. “I’ll put you on belay in t-minus 30 seconds.”
I sat silent until he positioned himself next to me, belay ready, and sat down. “Dude,” he said. “This is your money pitch. One of those moments you gotta take advantage of. I’m right here with you, all the way.” And so I voyaged up into the darkness, not confident at all in myself, but in the two of us, together.
Our friends are meant to teach us how we should live. what we should cherish, and what we should ignore. No one has done this to a greater degree than Caleb. I missed him all the time, and I was always looking forward to seeing him, tying in together, and bolster each other’s spirits. Now that feeling will remain unsatisfied for the rest of my life. But man, to have such a partner for so many years who I could always rely on, who I could always trust, confide in, and love… what a gift that was. What a gift he was.
Words by Mike Holland
