Any Tuolumne Family Camp folks read this blog? Today on #MondayswithMyles I want to talk about Beaverhead Rock.

A week ago yesterday, my wife Dr. Laurel, our 2 kids and I drove away from camp in Stanislaus National Forest after a week of nature and fun at Tuolumne – fully screen-free! The re-adjustment week was no joke, with my body wracked from sun, scrapes, bruises and bonks from climbing on rocks, and fatigue from the pack-out and move-in. Returning work after a week of sleeping on a camping bed frame in a sleeping bag is No Joke. Plus, I got an infection and it didn’t become sepsis but it coulda come close and I was having fevers and couldn’t figure out why until I went to urgent care. Now I’m on antibiotics, and thank goodness for that.

But it’s all worth it: spending this time with my kiddos (age 6 and 12) while they’re still little enough that we can enjoy cuddles and family camping together is a prize beyond measure for this dad-preneur.

In addition to the Nature Center, tie-dye activities, and Kiddie Camp, one of Tuolumne’s most famous features is Beaverhead Rock. It sits in the swimming hole, deceptively innocuous-looking, inviting anyone bold enough who dares to attempt to climb it.

There is nothing easy about climbing Beaverhead. If it were 3-D printed and included in an American Ninja Warriors competition, the ninjas would complain: “This is impossible!” And for many, on many occasions, it is.

For one thing, there is only one way up: you have to swim over and begin your ascent at the one and only divot in the rock, about the size and shape of a football. It’s at about chest height if you’re treading water at the mounting point.

Experienced Tuolumne campers can show you how to climb the rock using only pantomime:

Put both hands atop one another in the divot and straighten your arms, pushing up. If done correctly, this lifts you out of the water and puts the divot right around your waist height.

Get a knee up on the divot: many successful climbers put the knee on the hands and squish ‘em. Sometimes if your hands are off to the side, you can get a knee up beside them.

From here, you have to either wriggle a hand out from under the knee that’s squishing, or find another way to get your foot up into the divot.

This is the most difficult part, but it is not the only difficult part. Few who attempt even get this far.

If you can stand up in the divot, you still have a STEEP and SLIPPERY climb to get to the top of the rock.

Fingerholds are barely bigger than paperclips and your lizard brain is screaming at you not to attempt hardscrabbling across the surface of a smooth and slippery rock while you are still wet from the swim.

But many brave, stouthearted climbers do it. They make their way up, and everyone around  applauds when someone summits Beaverhead. And if you’re brave enough to jump the 20 foot plunge into the water when you’re done, they clap for you then too.

Why do I bring this up on a business blog? I’m not the first person to observe that rock climbing can be a metaphor for tackling any tricky task, but Beaverhead is a particularly illuminating example.

The few places you can stand or rest on the rock are so tiny, and the ascent is so risky, that many people lose their balance and slide into the water before they’ve even gotten a knee up, or after standing as they try to make it to the top. Once you feel yourself begin to slide, it’s usually too late to do anything about it. But experienced climbers know this secret: if you begin the slide, you must push yourself away from the rock. It’s the only way to avoid scrapes, cuts and bruises (not everyone heeds this advice: see above). It’s a test of your ability to be humble, think and act quickly, and accept defeat. If you can push off during a slide down the rock, the forgiving water awaits you: a cool and refreshing reward for failure. And then you have to decide: do you have it in you to try again when you failed two, three, four times already – or more?

The appeal is too tantalizing for many first-time campers to resist, but even though there are plenty of swimmers and floaters offering tips – seasoned pros who know from whence they speak –  some people who simply cannot take the advice! I’ve seen people try to do the straight-arm push backwards (doesn’t work – usually), people who try to climb Beaverhead in water shoes (this is mere hubris, or perhaps shoe-bris), and people who don’t listen when they are advised that, despite appearances, the path to the LEFT offers the most sure-footed way to the top.

What goes through these ambitious climbers’ heads when they wave off experienced know-how, and try climbing some place other than the divot, or otherwise disregard the wisdom being passed to them by the elders? I think they’re telling on themselves! I’ve taught enough leadership workshops to recognize ego when I see it. Anyone who climbs Beaverhead, knowing how hard it is, has a little bit of ego. It’s the most slippery, most perilous, challenging obstacle in the history of family camp. But when good solid advice falls on deaf ears and results in slips, cuts, and splash-downs, you have to wonder: why can’t they listen?

I’m sure you’ve never met anyone like that. Or had to work alongside one.

The gift of listening, of permitting ego death, of arming yourself with the empirical, lived advice of those who know before you: this is a rich reward. A reward, I would say, as pure and refreshing as the feeling of jumping off a 20 foot rock that was incredibly difficult to climb and landing in cool, rejuvenating water on a hot day to the sound of children, teens, and adults applauding you.

Although this was only my second year attending camp, it turns out I punch above my weight when it comes to listening to and following the advice of my predecessors. Please enjoy this video of me jumping off Beaverhead Rock. Dr. Laurel is on the rock too: she mastered the climb as a little kid and makes it look easy as a mountain goat skipping across the crags. You will also notice Melanie, attempting to make the climb backwards. And you know what? She made it up that way. Turns out, sometimes there are exceptions to the rules of Beaverhead!

 

Anyone else have memories of Tuolumne to share?