Sometimes I don't even know how to begin. I've read so many articles and essays about rock and mountain climbing. They are always so informative and knowledgeable about this craft and life experience that I've never felt that I have had enough experience to write about it. However, I feel that I have reached a point that I need to write and share my strong connection to this sport that some people look at with fear and trepidation while others like myself look at with awe, intrigue, and excitement.

Over the past two and a half years, I have graduated from a novice rock climber struggling on 5.5's to a decent and safe 5.8 trad climber. This has come about not only through my own efforts, but also the careful attention and training that I have been given so freely by my climbing partners, John and Melanie Derry, Ron Derry, Jimmy Guignard, and Sean McKnight, who I also count as my close friends. I've done so many vertical hikes through some of the most beautiful and scenic country in the world and so many vertical walks in areas where only ants and lizards live. Areas where God's natural bonsai's dwell and only accessible by rope and people who have the same desire to see these wonders as I do.

I remember one particular climb in the Linville Gorge. The "Daddy" is a 5.5 climb of five pitches. If you have been there to do any of the numerous and moderate climbs, you know that the hike in and down to the start of the climb leaves you saying, "I'm glad we're climbing out." On this day, there were five of us doing the climb. Climbing with three people can be time consuming even on a moderate route, and I was a little concerned about a hike out in the dark.

As it turned out, my fears were unfounded. I'm not sure that my other climbing partners felt it, but there was definitely magic in the air. I'm not going to go into detail about the technical part of this climb, because that is not what enamored me to it. The thing that drew me into the world of "The Daddy", was not the good rock, good protection, or the pleasant climbing. The rhythm of the rope and of the gorge became so thick that I felt as if, instead of physically climbing, I was just breathing and moving up. All while seeing with deepened eyes, the wonder of the mountains, the sky, and the wind blowing through the trees that spread out below us.

At the beginning of the fifth pitch, a spacious belay pocket with plenty of room, I took a picture of Melanie next to a large outcropping with the Linville River and gorge spread out behind her beveled into the earth as if a carpenter had mortised it there. That rock outcropping revealed itself to me as a silent witness to the ages and ages of creation that were visible to my eyes. And when I touched that inanimate rock, that unfeeling mineral, all I could hear was the gift of my breath and the wonder of being in such a place of inward and outward beauty.

I'm not making this up. Climbing to me is as fulfilling as church on Sunday or prayers to the ancient spirits from whatever part of this world that they hail from. I am drawn to these high places seeking that feeling even though I know that that feeling is only a breath away. I am drawn to those vertical hikes to see and witness for myself the miracles of life-and my life. Yes, "The Daddy"-A great climb and a deliciously deep experience.

I am into this climbing thing and I want to get better at all aspects of it. I wish to be able to climb a mountain as high as I can physically, so I can see the valleys and the rivers and the other mountains by only spinning around slowly where I stand. And then be able to sit down, close my eyes and feel inside what I have witnessed on the outside.

—Dave Wendelin, Living the Life with MountainZone.com