Not Your Emergency

This past weekend, I traveled to California to teach at Oakhurst Physical Therapy, thanks to Tony and Lori McLean, who are quite possibly the nicest people I've ever met. After I wrapped up the course Sunday afternoon, Tony was kind enough to drive me to Yosemite National Park and put me up in one of the tents at Curry Village.

I knew the trip would end in Yosemite, but Tony had been secretive about exactly what I'd be doing. In the lead-up, he kept sending me pictures and videos of Yosemite Search and Rescue (YOSAR) pulling people out of trouble on the face of El Capitan (the wall Alex Honnold climbed in Free Solo) and Half Dome, which was impressive but admittedly frightening.

Perhaps Tony thought I was some world-class climber because he knew about my training and sporting background, but hiking and climbing mountains is a totally different beast, especially in Yosemite. Nonetheless, I'm always down for adventure and the unknown, so I didn't push or probe. I was just along for the ride.

My only concern was the forecast, which called for temperatures around 29°F Sunday night into Monday morning with possible snow. My first thought: "Oh shit… exactly what I don't need."

We hopped in the car, grabbed a couple of burritos, and drove about 90 minutes from Oakhurst into the park. Along the way, we stopped at Glacier Point to catch the sunset with Half Dome off in the distance.

Calling it magical would be a disservice. Many of you Mac users may recognize the view from Apple's 2014 OS X Yosemite wallpaper, but it's even more spectacular in person.

After checking into Curry Village and locking my food away from the bears, I went to sleep with no real sense of my surroundings because it was pitch dark.

After a milder night than I expected, I woke to the valley's sheer granite walls disappearing into the clouds.

I got some food down the hatch, much like I would before a triathlon, and got ready to meet Jesse, an acquaintance of Tony's who'd kindly offered to take me into the mountains.

I knew Jesse worked in the park as a ranger of sorts, but I didn't fully appreciate who he was or what he did.

Turns out, he manages Yosemite's search-and-rescue operations and also works in law enforcement. He's the guy you might see rappelling from a helicopter to pull off a seemingly impossible rescue, remaining remarkably calm in situations that would send most people into an outright panic.

What I also didn't know was that we were headed to the summit of Half Dome, the very place I'd been photographing the night before, thinking how crazy it would be for anyone to climb it.

I've built up plenty of fitness over the years, but mountaineering is a different beast, and I wasn't necessarily conditioned for what lay ahead, not to the extent I could've been if I'd truly known what I was getting into. So I leaned on the physiology I'd accrued, put my trust in Jesse, and off we went.

It's a little unnerving to hear your guide point out places where he's carried people down the mountain in body bags, but it was also a sobering reminder of the stakes and the terrain. After about three hours of hiking, Half Dome came into view.

After another ~1,500 feet of elevation gain, we reached the base of Sub Dome and checked in with one of Jesse's colleagues, who got me a lightweight harness so I could clip into the cables.

Near the top of Sub Dome, a strong-looking Irishman coming down greeted us. He'd only made it halfway up the cables before getting spooked and turning around.

That got my attention. A little doubt was the last thing I needed then.

I looked at Jesse and said, "I think I'm good," meaning I didn't necessarily need to go all the way to the summit.

His response? "No, you're going, Chris."

Nothing like a gentle nudge. Thankfully, I felt comfortable continuing, especially knowing who I was with.

So up we went, clipping and unclipping our way along the cables. Pictures online don't do it justice. That wall is significantly steeper than you'd ever appreciate until you're on it.

Eventually, we found ourselves on top of Half Dome, peering over the edge.

While I sat there, still overwhelmed by the height, Jesse casually called his dentist to reschedule a couple of appointments for him and his family.

Some people are just at ease in these situations.

I'm not necessarily one of them, but the longer we were up there, the more comfortable I became.

We eventually made our way back down, checked in with Jesse's colleague again, and spent the rest of the afternoon heading back to where we'd parked. Boy, was I relieved to finally get back to the car.

I'm still in awe of what I got to experience.

If you've ever considered hiking Half Dome, do yourself a favor and get a permit. But make sure you're prepared, not only physically but with your fueling, hydration, and equipment, because there's little margin for error once you're up on Sub Dome and Half Dome.

In hindsight, the one thing I'd do differently is pack more fuel. I didn't know I'd be taking nearly 48,000 steps, covering roughly 15 miles, and standing atop Half Dome at 8,846 feet.

I suppose ignorance is bliss.

The one souvenir I could've done without is the exercise-induced muscle damage (AKA DOMS) I've been dealing with since. Apparently, years of endurance training don't make you immune to descending several thousand feet.

Jesse and I, both Gen Xers and the same age, had some great conversations throughout the day. But outside of the views and the experience itself, what I remember most is something he said about leading search and rescue:

"You're there to help people, but remember, this isn't your emergency. It's theirs."

I've thought about that statement quite a bit since returning home.

As clinicians, we often find ourselves working with people navigating pain, injury, uncertainty, and circumstances that can feel overwhelming.

It's natural to want to solve their problems, ease their distress, and steer them toward a better outcome.

But there's an important distinction between caring deeply about someone's circumstances and taking ownership of them.

We can listen, guide, educate, and offer our expertise. We can help people understand their options and make thoughtful decisions.

What we can't do is live their experience for them.

Our job is to help them find their footing, but they have to walk the path themselves.

Gratefully,
Chris 🙏

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