The Things Tourists Say

Yes, I enjoy climbing small little rocks. No, I do not use a rope. No, it is actually far less dangerous that roped climbing. Yes, I’ve climbed with a rope. No, I have not climbed anything on El Cap. No, it is not my life’s dream to do The Nose. This thing on my back? It’s a big foam pad. Just in case I fall asleep and fall backwards. I have narcolepsy.

Ah, tourists - when will you learn? The answer? Never.

And that’s ok. Honest. After years of heading up the Tramway in Palm Springs with a crashpad on my back, I’m used to the weird questions and even weirder looks from tourists.

Tourist: “Is that a massage table?”
Me : “Yes, yes it is. My buddy and I like to head up the mountain, hike deep into the woods, and give each other nature massages. They’re really quite great - you should try it.”

(Of course, the louder and more excited you get when saying this, the more looks you get from the Tram passengers)

And my recent trip to Yosemite was no different. This was my 4th trip to Yosemite this year (and my 4th ever). The other three trips were made in the off-season and — in the spring — Yosemite seemed to be filled more with climbers and adventurists than 30-person families with bike racks, campers, and 4-burner behemoth grills. In the off-season, it seemed so common to see a crashpad or a rack full of cams that I don’t think I ever got a tourist question. But in the summer-time, the bouldering becomes slippery and those in-the-know seem to avoid the Valley and head for Tahoe.

Along with the summer-time hordes comes the uninitiated — and like I said, it doesn’t bother me anymore. I get a pretty good chuckle — especially hearing parents explaining my sport to their kids.

One lovely afternoon, my friend Dave informed me he’d seen a great looking boulder just off the road that connects Curry Village to the Happy Isles shuttle stop. We hopped on our bikes and cruised over. Despite a bit of chalk on a short finger crack, the rest of the boulder was dirty. We set to work with my brushes, shaving off the dead moss and removing layers of dirt and pine needles. We made quick work of the left and right aretes. Dave then saw another line just to the right of the left arete. Dave and I both spent 30 minutes or so trying to work out the moves.

The boulder is road-side and across from a very popular hiking trail, so there were plenty of tourists checking out our progress as they walked by. Most were quiet, but my two favorite comments were:

1. Son: “Look dad! Look at the rock climbers!”
   Dad: “Yeah, son — they’re practicing their rock climbing.” (No, sir! This is rock climbing… my goal is not to get strong for aid climbing [please note the subtle climbing humor here])


2. After I took a good fall after turning the lip, a lady called out: “Good thing this isn’t Half Dome - you’d be dead! Haha” To this I simply had no reply. Normally (especially hours later), I would have some fantastically sarcastic retort to a comment like this, but I still have nothing. I just hope people aren’t soloing v4’s heading up the cables. (I’ve heard the 1,000 steps are hard, but I don’t think they’re v4). No. See? Even that isn’t a good retort. I’ll work on it and get back to you with something funnier.

I must give a tip o’ the hat to another friend, Jake, who came across us as he was coming back from Half Dome. “Are you guys bouldering?” Jake, I applaud you. Yes, we are bouldering. It’s hard. And it’s fun. Carry on.

But my favorite moment of the week came on our 2nd day of our trip. I’d spotted a great looking boulder only a few hundred yards from our campsite. I’d attempted some headlamp climbing, but despite chalk on a few start holds, the rest of the climb was dirty and untouched. So the next morning, I loaded up my backpack with a few pieces of gear and a short 30m rope. I planned to head to the boulder, throw a rope over the top and rappel onto the climb to clean it.

I left Upper Pines Campground and joined the same trail mentioned earlier, heading towards Happy Isles. I crossed the road and fell into the flow of foot traffic, just in front of a girl and her mom.

Girl: “Look mommy - he’s got a big rope!” (I smiled, knowing the 30m rope was half the standard length, but enjoying the little girl’s enthusiasm and awe)
Mommy: “Yes, dear. It looks like he’s going rock climbing.”

Having a daughter myself, my mind turned to my not-too-distant-future of teaching my daughter the “ropes” of rock climbing. I smiled and continued walking just in front of them. As I neared the boulder just off the trail to my right, the girl made a keen observation:

Girl: “Look mommy - I think he’s going to go climb that rock.”
Mommy: “No, dear. I’m sure he’s going to go climb something much bigger.”

With almost a hint of spite towards the older woman, I smiled big as I stripped off my pack, and began setting up the rope. I smiled at the girl as she walked by as if to say: “See? Your imagination wins! And frankly my dear, you don’t need to run out 30 pitches on El Cap to have a good time.” I hope I run into that little girl again — maybe next time on a 30-foot-long low-ball traverse.

The rest of my afternoon was spent hanging on a gri gri, roasting in the sun, and filling my shoes with brushed-off dirt and gray lichen. The occasional tourist would stop along the path and offer me an inquisitive glance. I was far enough away to not hear any of the comments, but I’m sure the sight of a guy hanging off a small boulder — with a toothbrush in one hand and a toilet brush in another — was something they’d not seen before.

“Look mommy - he’s scrubbing the rock with a toilet brush.”
“No dear, I’m sure he’s just practicing for his janitorial job in Curry Village.”

Epilogue: enjoy this forum post from WestCoastBouldering.com about the dumbest crashpad question we’ve ever gotten from a tourist.