It had been raining for days in the Valley. The first big storm was set to hit at the beginning of November and that had sent the crowds fleeing to the desert. The sodden, saturated Valley floor was as desolate as the I-50 Highway from California to Utah. Camp Four had one elaborate tarp set up near the bathrooms. This was Camp Brussel, coined by Nico, Belgian native and big wall goliath. A group of strong and soulful climbers from Belgium weathered the storms of November in hopes of blue skies and crisp temperatures on the great heart stone, El Capitan. A few smaller teams speckled the muddy pine forest. Rangers abandoned their post for the season and only the committed were lingering.
I biked around aimlessly. My stomach had ballooned after an unfortunate gulp of bad water on El Capitan weeks before. My body was failing me and my mind, frazzled. I felt weak. The fall season hosted a series of deaths, a bad fall on the Nose, and the Nose speed record broken. I was due to climb Freerider on El Capitan the following day. It would be my final attempt for the season.
The bulky flip phone, in the shoe box next to my seat,buzzed. Drew’s calling…
“Hey, I think we need to go look for Niels. His car has not moved since Monday.” It was Friday. The anxiety in his voice filled my heart with fear. Something was wrong. Niels missed his date to climb with Nico on Tuesday so I had filled in. Knowing Niels and his wandery ways, I didn’t think much of his absence.
“Copy. I’ll bike over in a minute.” Harnesses, jumars, ropes, cordellete, food, water, and headlamps were heaved into our packs and this materialized the reality of this event. Leaning against his blue cargo van in the wood lot near the rescue tents, Drew’s eyes widened with confusion. He, uncharacteristically, rolled a cigarette. Like a countdown into battle, each drag thronged our departure.
“Hey Drew.” I gulped. “This could be ...really bad. He could be dead.” We both knew this already.
We trudged up the dank, talus field with knotted stomachs on that somber afternoon. We found a fallen friend tangled with fallen leaves and fallen ropes, hardened by the weather of the storm - a swollen corpse folded over itself with the sharp image of his sculpted arm draped flat and that rattlesnake tattoo; a memory forever etched into my mind.
He had fallen.
Niels was dead. His spirit vanished into the ether in a wink. His brief existence ended because of a mysterious rappelling accident that hurled him to the ground like rock-fall on El Capitan. The force he was, so grandiose and larger than life, halted, altering the lives and landscape of those he cherished and cherished him. It really could happen to anyone.
Niels was a romantic warrior. Experienced in tragedy and having lost both of his brothers, he spent countless days and months roaming the Utah desert and dry, arid mountains of the Sierra pondering life, death, and purpose. He was known for his poetics and flowery vernacular. His presence was felt by everyone.
Niels and I had only known each other a year and a half before he left this world, but our experiences together were passionate and volatile.
The first day I spent with Niels was on Freerider in the Spring of 2016.
“You climb like a kitten riding a unicorn!” He playfully mused up to me while we were simul-climbing moderates pitches. A few minutes later, he took the reigns, delicately balancing his way across to the monster off-width with only a few draws and a #4 camalot.
Of course, his feats on the great heart stone, as he would call it, were only a mere glimpse of his character, but so adequately described him in life - bold, humble, playful, confident.
Later that Spring, he invited me to stay on Timbuktu Tower with him. This ledge, on the left side of El Capitan, was nearly half way up the stone. He spent his season attempting to free climb an old aid line here. Knowing he was leaving soon, I seized the opportunity to spend an evening with him. Ascending up 5 fixed ropes in the evening light, I found him equipping the route with more bolts.
He was surprised to find me as it didn’t seem likely I would do such a foolish act before a big day of climbing! But emotions, those powerful, impulsive emotions, lacking any rationality, led me surprise him with chocolate, strawberries, and yogurt, though I knew that my climbing day would suffer. Infatuation, love, whatever you call it, ignores obligations and goals. The heart reigns.
Niels volleyed off my jester, as he was every bit romantic as I, by building a fire.
“Can you believe this?” He gasped. A gift it was to share the view of the birds, perched high in our nest.
“Life doesn’t get much better than this. El Capitan, a tent, a fire, dessert.”
We both sighed, appreciating this fleeting moment together. I wished that feeling of closeness with a person, that all-consuming appreciation of another could last. I was smitten for Niels, like many women before me. I fell asleep listening to him read me Cormac McCarthy, feeling content and alive though my heart ached knowing he was soon leaving with no plans to return.
He was good at that, savoring each day and making the experience full of life. Tragedy and trauma do that to a person. Not knowing when or how long we have on this Earth allows one to appreciate the richness of the moment. He knew, better than most, that everything was impermanent and our time, precious.
His parting words cautiously warned me to take care of myself and he, the same; that he might never see me again, though he intended too. Then, for the first time, he kissed me, saddled up into his truck and road East.
Niels snuck a note into my van with “Don’t break too many holds or hearts this season. Stay gold.”
I was bewildered, frustrated, swooned. Who the hell is this guy?
As time passed, Niels emailed me nearly every week he was abroad with tidbits of his life and philosophy. His writings subtly suggested a future between us, yet we never made any plans. I was as disoriented after a drive on the narrow roads in the Spanish countryside.
'Heart like a hippo, hands like an orangutan; these are my wishes for you on the great rock phallus.'
These were words written from an email to me just prior to my first expedition-style trip into the Purcell Wilderness of Canada. I spent two weeks deep in the wilderness. It was the most remote, untouched area I have ever been to all while mulling over every email he sent me, wandering if we were to connect again. I pined over him to my partner, Jenny.
“Jenny, that’s what he wrote me. What the fuck, really? What does all of this mean?”
"I do like heart like a hippo.” She chimed.
Puzzled by his nebulous writing, we chuckled over his words with us on that trip. Subsequently, Jenny and I named our first, first ascent, ‘Heart like a Hippo.’ My heart expanded on that trip to the towers. Expanding my comfort zone far beyond Yosemite had taught me, Jenny patiently guided me through the mountains with her extensive knowledge in snow and glacier travel.
Fall came and the strings of my heart tightened, stretching and expanding beyond its capacity to care for myself and let go of others. Niels and I continued our courtship immediately when he came back to Yosemite, though where Niels and I stood was as unstable as a game of Jenga, always on the brink of disruption and failure.
“Wouldn’t it be amazing to sit on a plot of land and make an meager living selling wine?” he mused as we sat 10 meters high in a tree filled with orange, yellow, and red leaves the sizes of plates. This stand-out tree we had to climb lived across the Chapel in the Valley.
“Niels, have you ever had to financially struggle before? It’s not glamorous.” I huffed.
These dreams he had, romantic and simple, yet dreams of one with more privilege than he could handle.
Again, when the season came to an end, we went separate ways. While I wanted something more concrete with Niels, he was unavailable to commit so after many arguments and headaches, we parted ways.
Many moons later, he met me in Estes Park, CO to climb the Diamond on Long’s Peak, an adventure we’d both share for the first time.
Alpine flowers trimmed the trail we followed as we passed the tree line. Niels and I chatted about life and love and discovery along the approach. It seemed like time had healed our wounds.
“Always awesome Alix,” he would say tongue-in-cheek. Compliments were never given without insult.
At 3:00 AM, like all alpine missions, we peered out of our nook to see if clouds were billowing over. I secretly wished the storm was overhead after our evening of bickering. But it wasn’t. My ratty old trainers did nothing for steep, packed ice approach. Every few steps upwards, I would slide back down, desperately clawing at the snow to stop my descent. Niels had left me far behind as he scurried upward with stiff shoes and our only ice axe. Eventually with lots of cursing and frustration, I reached the base as the sun rose with brilliant shades of pink and purple and it’s reflection was seen in Chasm Lake for a double effect. There are few things I love more than a sunrise in this world.
In the morning, we climbed an immaculate granite slab climb weaving our way up with delicate traverses connecting features, spicy protection, and creative downclimbing. Swapping leads and whooping calls, we were ecstatic to be climbing this iconic formation without another soul in sight.
Rain spat on and off all morning, but hardly enough to dampen the granite or our spirits. We continued up the main face of the Diamond via D7, a John Bachar route, fitting for a couple of Yosemite elitists. Still, we were the only team out there.
The wall was steep and though we followed a natural crack climb, the fractures in the wall also created big, in cut rectangular jugs nearly the entire way up. The climbing went fast and smooth, though the clouds kept building and building.
When we reached the summit, we received the last slice of sunshine before the clouds engulfed us. Somehow, we felt like we cheated and won that day with the stormy weather and a beautiful summit. On the rock with Niels, I always felt safe and we managed to summit the mountain, and attain a glimpse of absolute freedom in the wilderness.
Though within minutes of our descent, the storm unleashed and we hiked down through torrential rain. We meandered down through the path of least resistance. One rappel made our descent easier as the waterfalls were building.
Niels pulled the rope down and the end cracked in his eye. Like a marred bear, he aggressively picked up the ropes and chucked them as far as he could. His screams were loud enough to match the thunderous mountain range.
“Fuck! FUCK!” He belched. Anything I said was received with anger so I remained silent.
Panic moved through my body. His outburst was similar to the aggressive outbreaks of my father. My heart started to beat faster and all I wanted to do was run away.
This moment, on top of a 14,000 ft peak as flashes of lightning pierced the sky and thunder echoed in the distance, had somehow instilled the fear I lived with as a child hiding from the anger, sheltered underneath my bed with my puppy. What a contrast to feel this fear in the most expansive place I could be. His outburst brought back the anxiety that plagued me in my childhood.
But that was part of the beauty in Niels. Everything surfaced with him. All of my pain anxiety, faults, frustrations as well as joy, love, and presence were given and received. We continually challenged and questioned each other, though I always thought we’d drift in and out of each others lives into the greying age.
To truly experience life, to feel fully alive, one must feel everything, including the murky waters of pain, anxiety, sorrow, and fear. With Niels, I did just that.
In our final conversation before he died, he challenged my intentions for flying to Tasmania. Niels, trying to mask his smile as he always did when our eyes locked, rode up to my van on a unicycle with a beer in one hand and an its-it ice-cream, a Yosemite staple. His handlebar mustache and cut off vest exposing his rattlesnake tattoo made our interaction all more the absurd.
“Are you flying there for a boy?” He prodded.
“No, Niels. I want a change.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“…You and I both love a good romance. Are you really sure?”
“Yes, Niels. Listen to me, damnit.”
“You know, I don’t regret anything that happened last year, Alix. I think you’re an incredible person.”
Yet again, I felt heaviness in my stomach, similar to the feeling of finding him five days after this conversation. I reflected upon my distance and hostility - had I been too harsh, to unforgiving with Niels? While I pushed further away, he still accepted and cared about me.
I sat with the overwhelmingly feeling of guilt. My heart was still tender for that wild man with his elusive ways. I laughed thinking about the time we spent together. His eyes were softer, smiling that day.
In Niels’ passing, I have had the gift of experiencing the whole range of human emotions and to question and closely examine everything in my life. The loss of Niels was a great tragedy, yet somehow, sadly beautiful and expanding.
Our time on this planet is short. Impermanence and change are the only constants we have. So, too, these feelings of confusion or sadness, anger, resentment, all things associated with loss, won’t last forever either. Niels was a resilient human who endured more than most. Yet with time, was able to continue his story with grace, honor, and joy.
Last year in Australia, I was sick and heart broken, blundering through grief. It seems like a distant memory these days. My simple existence in Bishop has been so enriching and filled with joy since I’ve been home. I don’t understand our world and I don’t plan on trying to anymore. I guess I have learned to take everything in stride, good and bad. Niels taught me that.
