The house I grew up in is surrounded by woods on all sides except for one. Just to the south of us was another home. Mom. Dad. Three kids. Just like ours. The youngest of both families were just one month apart. A boy and a girl. I was the boy and the girl's name was Brette. We were the best of friends. I can write for days on this, but I'll pick up the story here.
Earlier this year, Brette made the first free-solo climb of the Chiaro de Luna of the Fitz Roy down in Patagonia. That's so far over my head and that I really can't comprehend what that's like, but I stoked and in awe of her. Her stories give me confidence. Her perspective gives me hope. Her achievements push me to make bigger strides.
Some friends brought me climbing last weekend off Exit 38 near North Bend, WA. Brette taught me to climb in Tahoe back in highschool, but sometimes the fear of getting hurt still gets to me. But this day I had an unexpected confidence on the rock. I thought about Brette often and her methods, choosing focus over fear. I brought my camera to practice shooting. Someday I'll tag along with Brette once again and photograph the adventure. She's headed back to Patagonia this February. Perhaps I'll join.