29 May 2007

Encounter on a Rocky Ridge

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I could have easily killed the furry caterpillar. I could have squashed him or just flicked him off the high rock, condemning him to a very long and treacherous fall. He was unavoidably in my way, just inches away from my face, and he scared me with his bristly, spiky "horns," which looked like they could sting. I met him on the scariest part of a high rock climb in the days when I was still learning to climb.
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I decided to view him with compassion as a fellow climber, and it changed me somehow. This was over 30 years ago, and it is still one of my greatest memories.
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I was free soloing a "chimney" climb. It was fairly secure for the first 90% of the climb, because you are inside a big crack and can just jam your body into place against the opposing walls. But the crux of the climb is the ending, where the chimney crack narrows and forces you out unto the face. The very top turns
into a thin ridge with the narrowing crack on the left and a sheer drop to the right.
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The technique here is to hug the ridge for dear life, straddling it and inching your way up. Your left leg and left arm are jammed into the crack for anchor. Your right leg and boot are applying pressure to the outside wall of the ridge, while your right hand grips the spine of the ridge. Your belly and chest are tight against the rock, as is your face. One tends to get nervous here.
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On this sunny, late spring day, I was moving up this crux section when I saw the caterpillar directly in front of my face on the ridge's spine. He was blond-colored with a pair of black bristly spikes or horns on each end. The spikes looked like stingers of some sort. At this close range, I could see the breeze ruffling the creature's fur but not the spikes, which were rigid. I surely did not want to touch him.
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What to do? Down-climbing was out of the question in those infant climbing days of mine. I thought that he would have to go and that I would have to flick him off the ridge. But, as I watched him inch his way up the rock with graceful caterpillar-like movements, I felt a kind of sympathy and compassion for him. He was pursuing his own project and was not bothering anyone. Besides, what was a human doing in such a strange place? I was the intruder, the trespasser, the unwanted guest. So, I decided to somehow climb over him without hurting him. It was not going to be easy.
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This was extremely awkward and gave me a feeling of far less security than if I bellied up the rock, hugging it closely. As I started moving over him, I lifted my face about 6 inches above him and noticed that the exhalations from my nostrils were blowing his fur as if in a strong wind. He stopped still, probably wondering what manner of huge beast was hovering over him. I carefully found new positions for my hands and feet, planning out the crucial move when I would move my torso over him, with my weight dangerously out away from the rock.
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As I started the execution of this critical move, I let out a strong, measured exhalation. My poor caterpillar friend looked like he was in a howling gale, with his fur positively flattened by the wind of my breath. He hunkered down, seemingly gripping the rock tighter. I kept 6 inches distance between him and me, and I started climbing up. Looking down between my body and the rock, I moved my chest past him, then my abdomen, then my knees. When it was time to move my feet past him, I looked down with special care, lest my heavy boots would accidentally hit him.
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When I had finally cleared him and when my feet were several feet above him, I looked back to see him continuing on his original path across the rock. It was as if we never had crossed paths. The top of the climb was immediately above, and, when I reached it, I sat in the sun while watching my little friend go about his measured pace to whatever destination he was bound.
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I think of this encounter often. I learned an important lesson about compassion from this caterpillar bodhisattva. "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" for all of us. Laissez nous faire (i.e., "Leave us alone").
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-Zenwind.