I took another calming breath, smiled at the world, wiggled my toes, and turned around continuing the climb.  The freedom was exhilarating, no harness, rope, belayer, or mental thickness.  Despite my spirit cartwheels I moved carefully up the rock, keeping my mind now/here. 

Free-soloing is dangerous, because a trip or stumble means death.  As a Rocky Mountain Rescue friend of mine put it:

 “I won’t free solo until I can go a year without tripping on the sidewalk, and that’s never happened.” 

The chances are too great that a slip will happen;  however, as another climber friend stated:

 “Free soloing on a grade you are really comfortable on is about as dangerous as skiing back country in Colorado; both have risks that are out of our control.”

I used to free solo stuff all the time as a kid; buildings, trees, rock.  My dad and I once got all the way up a chimney on the back side of Mount Rushmore in the Black Hills and couldn’t top out.  I freaked, cried, thought we were going to die, but my dad calmed me down and talked me through the careful downclimb. 

I pretty much gave up rock climbing at that point.  From age 12 to 20 I pursued other things, but then in college discovered climbing ropes and harnesses, and re-opened that door.  Today I love taking falls in the gym, pushing the limits of fear and climbing ability in a totally safe manner.  I regularly climb 5.12 on plastic, and occasionally push 5.13.  Outside I push 5.12 on a really good day, and often flash hard 5.11’s. 

Anyway, I don’t list these as a glory-seeking statement.  If there is one thing I’ve fully integrated while in Boulder, it’s that whatever your level there is always someone better, so quit with the ratings and get out and do it for yourself!  I merely state this to show that free-soloing the 1st Flatiron is well below my normal climbing limit, and on par with a grade I occasionally do in the gym with only one arm, or blind folded. 

I’ve stayed away from Trad because the limits are more nebulous than sport.  How far can one go between gear placements?  Where does trad end and fee-solo begin?  Earlier this summer I opened that door with a friend.  We simul-climbed the 5th Flatiron, and it was awesome, fun, and easy. 

Friday afternoon, when the right turn lane to my house was backed up with an abnormal amount of cars I went straight instead, and ended up standing on 1000 feet of rock on top of a Flatiron in my Vibram Five Fingers. 

Free soloing has been circling in my spirit ever since that day in the Black Hills with my dad.   I have two incredible friends, Scott, and Steph, I respect a lot, who explore the human spirit by walking the edges of fear and exhilaration through free soloing, base jumping, highlining, etc.  They have taught me lessons I might never have learned. I know the challenges are mental in free-soloing; the moves are easy, but the mind state is not. 

It is like many other things in my life that require moving to a place of consuming success.  Handling multi-million dollar space optics at work ;  driving a rescue vehicle with Boulder Emergency Squad; and belaying a good friend are all simple tasks with extreme consequences.  A “slip” is not an option, and so the mind must be prepared for cool, efficient, success. 

Friday’s climb was smooth like that, enthusiasm was held in check, and so was fear.  I felt both of them climbing beside me as silent companions; every once in awhile one would make a noise as if to distract me, but the other would say:

 “Shhh. Let Larkin climb!” and inner silence would remain.

Such endeavors pull me back to the sharp end of life, aware, conscious, here, full of power and succinctly able to create the moments of my future.

James had brought his new kiteboard over from Scotland and we were playing with it in Omak Lake in Washington.  I was boardless, body surfing back and forth, learning the controls while trying to tack upwind.  It was hard, and yet easy.  Wind and hydrodynamics are things I understand very well, and so even though it is a difficult skill, I was surfing the learning curve as steep as it would go.  With a few words of encouragement and as much verbal instruction as I could pack in my short term memory James had launched the kite and sent me out. 

I crashed the kite once, but figured out how to wet launch it, and was now skimming back and forth happily.  Kiteboards have always scared me a bit because of the power they hold attached to 300’ of decapitation line.  I’d heard horror stories of lost limbs, and boarders flying off in storms to be smashed broken and helpless on buildings.

But heck, it was here, for one days only!  I had to try; and dammit if it wasn’t a freakin’ blast!   In this moment I was fully now/here, with every sense tuned to figure out how to make this kite an explosion of awesome rather than terrible disaster. 

James had just rocked the board, showing use all the awesomeness.  Here are a couple photos of him pushing the human limits of wind-powered agility. 

This guy is amazing at artfully dropping into new skills without the limits most of us put up against success. He and I learned to sport climb together, and ran with those limits pushing each other further and faster.  He’s been in Scotland for 2 years now, and damn I miss him.  While the Rocky Mountains keep my climbing muscles strong, and my slacklining/highlining skills begin to blossom he destroys the UK volleyball circuit and lets the North Sea teach him to kiteboard. 

We are brothers in adventure, and I can’t wait until we are collocated on the same continent again and can get down to business busting through more adventures!  Thanks for bringing the kite over James, and for letting me almost wreck it on the beach.  It was the best day of wind powered fun I’ve had in years!

Celebration: Dancing through a Waterfall of Fire at Burningman

 Standing almost 7 feet tall, I watched the horizontal waterfall of fire wash across the desert, clearing barriers and igniting exhilaration. The wind blew coals from the burning man across my boots and out toward the open playa. CRASH! The Man caved in on itself releasing an explosion of fire. An airborne chuck of flaming shrapnel hit me in the chest, and I laughed, because I was wearing body armor! And out of everyone in the crowd I was the safe one to hit with projectiles. Stepping to my left, I waded out of the burning river as the people surged forward and began a howling counter-clockwise run encircling the fire.

 With my 7 inch knee-high platforms with spot lights glued to the toes, body armor, EL wire, and pink spiky wig, people happily separated and flowed around me.  Someone stopped, and I picked them up in an enveloping hug until they let go of whatever cares they were holding.  I set them back down slowly; they flashed a brilliant smile continued their run.

 I stood at the edge of the fire behind a star and watched as the world circled, looking for its right position, each heart gleefully running, and hopefully pausing.  Each place in the circle was a universe of its own, and a pause in such a place brought on an expectant journey.

 Most of my week was spent in solo adventures, an unattached wanderer flying through the energy circles of a thriving, pulsing, living city, surrounded by the deep-dust space of a soul-canvas eager for the paintings of humanity.  Exploring, dancing, journeying, feeding the craving of the adventurer within, I painted the canvas with large confident strokes, proclaiming my independent connectedness.  I rode miles through the dust following a superhighway only visible to me, arriving at a spirit-paradise that only I could see, and sitting in a place that only mattered to me.  Days of this, nights of this, spirals of freedom, as my smile slowly grew into a whole-body glow. 

 I danced, climbed, played, and floated.  My spirit initially a bit intimidated by all the other playful spirits quickly began to live the celebration.  I watched sunrise after sunrise, each growing in meaning, brightness, and connectedness.  As my glow brightened I began to paint the canvas with others rather than just next to them.  I set up a slackline and taught the art of balance, here-now, and mindful movement.  I became a furry smile, gifting hugs and stability, with an ear for all troubles, and a playful heart for adventure. 

I was overflowing with life.

My journey to Burningman began 8 years ago as I slowly ingested the idea of such a radical “festival.”  But the turning point came a year ago while my friends were all at the Burn and I had my first Playa dream.  It was so intensely powerful that I woke up in the middle of the night, turned on my computer, and tried to buy a ticket. 

Post Burn dreams this year were even more prolific, and yet most were jumbled and hard to understand.  My mind-state matched, full of puzzle pieces floating around, some fitting, some not.  Most have landed now, but some I feel will continue floating unnoticed until they find the right place, setting off a sure-fire spark of connections again rocking my delicately resilient world. 

 The integration back into the world has been seamless and inspiring. The playa catapulted me through a few barriers I’ve been struggling with for awhile and only barely suspected.  Eyes open, heart open, life open; I am looking forward to the brightness of the future, but also sitting calmly in the refreshing now.

Ideas for next year are soaring, art projects, costumes, rogue prank art, love, and fire.  Rites of Passage (the theme for next year) already has its hooks in my heart, as I think it is something our world has sadly neglected, so possibilities for the upcoming burn are flying around a light speed.  Every once in awhile I catch one, and oooh it cool! But then it takes off again buzzing and gathering speed.  What they will become who knows, but right now my mind is a hive of excitement.

Burningman is a week of excess, a period of time that is extra, forgotten, out of the books, happy and free. It is a time for humans to put down the shovel and say “ok, now for me, what would I like.”

The doorway between worlds had been a pleasant one, full of its own journeys and adventures, each leaving with a completely confusing, and yet totally useful gift. Most I have yet to figure out how to use, and a few I haven’t even seen yet.

Black Rock City is a place of passion, a place of motivation, a place of freedom. Is it incredible to see what people can do when they are left alone to pursue what they love. A week is a big enough window into the soul of humanity to provide a gloriously uplifting view of what’s inside our society. It provided clues to what we crave, what we nurture, and what we don’t care for at all.

 The desert is unnatural. From the moment we arrive our body is out of its comfort zone, so we adapt, because that’s what we’re good at. We learn, and change, because that’s what we do when we’re out of our comfort zone. We work to make it comfortable. The same thing happens when we land in a far off city, country, world. We start to learn the language, figure out the public transit system, learn where to get food, where to sleep. Burningman is the same. A new world constructed right on top of the old.

We wake up, and for a moment we want to stay in our bed, because it is safe and known, but then our curiosity gets the better of us, and says “hey! There is a pretty amazing world out there to explore, go!” and so we go, and we explore, and we stay up until sunrise because there is so much exploring to do. And each person we encounter along the way through the day is part of the journey.

Black Rock City is a microcosm for the intentional existence. Thing happen at the right moment, the right place, and to the right people. This is partially a byproduct of everyone going openly, without an agenda.

So, again, what is it all for?  What do 50,000 people do when they realize the desert has changed them?  They go back “home” to the default world, and look closely at it, trying to figure out how they can sneak a bit of passion into an everyday activity. 

 The complete set of photos  can be seen here.  Take your time, enjoy, there are about 200 of them.

“…the difference between being “nowhere” and being “now here” is just a pause and a deep breath.”

Illumination holds the glow of my experience from the perspective of humanity and is on ElephantJournal so give them some love and read it there! Comment, discuss, yell, scream, do backflips.  Waylon already started quite a discussion via a link right in my post about why he will never go to burningman. So let’s get it started!  What do you think?  Have you been to burningman?  How many times? Why did you go?  If not, why not?  Would you go?

A stop-motion video I took Friday Morning at sunrise.  A photo every 15 seconds for 45 minutes looking east toward Lady Bliss from The Man.

The complete set of photos  can be seen here.  Take your time, enjoy, there are about 200 of them.

 The force of the collision pushed a shriek out of my lungs, and yet, when that shriek was finished I was still flying through the air, accelerating downward and outward, and so I quickly filled my lungs and let loose another.  And as a third shriek became a full whoop, falling became flying, and my motion changed from downward to up, and out…

A huge rope swing was set up on Monkey Face in Smith Rock State Park near Bend Oregon.  We had heard stories about it the day before from a local, along with a boast of “It was the most fun thing I have ever done.”  We hiked up to Monkey Face to take a look, and it was still rigged!

 I took pictures with the zoom lens and checked out the equipment.  The rigging looked bomber.  A double line for the swing, well backed up, and protected from abrasion dangled 100ft or so down from a prominent prow of the reverse tapering Monkey Face monolith. 

Plan A was simple, swing until I quite moving, then uncoil the swing ropes and rappel down the double line to the ground.  My ATC was already locked in, so I wouldn’t have anything to do, no rope transfers, rigging adventures, or possible mishaps.  Safe, simple, perfect.

The wind was intense!  After the 4^th swing my path changed orbit and I smacked into the Monkey Face tower, using my feet and legs as shock absorbers.  Finally I sat still dangling in space, over a hundred feet from anything except an overhung aid route.

…I sat in my harness, letting the adrenaline seep through my skin and float away on the breeze.  Looking up along the rope to the anchors I saw one of the climbers poking his head over the edge to check on my status.  I heard some excited voices from the rock I had launched from, as the nearby fabric of life rippled making room for the intense energy of the recent event. 

 The harness I had meticulously tightened while prepping for the swing was starting to cut off the blood flow to my legs as I sat in space and uncoiled the ropes.  My legs began to tingle as I lowered the lines toward the ground.   Fully uncoiled they dangled, and snapped in the breeze still far short of the rocks below…  Damn.

Plan B involved a complicated rope transfer with a single line rappel to the ground.  I had hoped to avoid this, but the swing turned out to be bigger than I thought.  I mentally added another 50ft to all my distance estimates which left me 120ft from the anchors and 150ft from the ground.  The peak of my swing probably put me close to 300ft off the deck with another 200-300ft down to the river below.  Wow!   It was one hell of a swing! 

Take a look at the photos my brother took, and the video Sophia took to get a good feel for the magnitude.  Major props to Joel for such an awesome rigging job.  I would have liked to meet you, but thanks for making it bomber and leaving it up an extra day.

Monkey Face Rope Swing Sequence (jump sequence as taken from my brother’s position).