The Thank God Ledge

I am not a rock climber. 

In my childhood out in the fields and forests of northwestern Ontario, I was a capable and confident tree climber, but in my less-adventuresome adulthood, which contains far more desk time than forest time, that skill has disappeared from lack of use. Despite my adult-onset fear of heights, there’s a part of me that still understands the allure of the climb. I remember the elation and sense of accomplishment of reaching the highest stable branch about 75 feet up into our favourite massive spruce tree and looking out over the fields.

But that spruce tree is literally child’s play compared to what experienced rock climbers tackle. Yosemite National Park, in the Sierra Nevada mountain range, is one of the most famous destinations for skilled climbers, with iconic cliffs whose names are known even to non-climbers like me: El Capitan. Cathedral Wall. And the relentlessly vertical Northwest Face of Half Dome.

The first ascent of Half Dome was in 1957, when three men in their early 20s – Jerry Gallwas, Mike Sherrick, and their leader, Royal Robbins – decided to give scaling the 2000-foot sheer wall the ol’ college try. 

Half Dome is an accurate name for this rock, as it looks like a gently rounded mound that was somehow sliced cleanly in two, with one half removed.* If Robbins and his team could make it up the face of the cliff to the summit, they’d be able to make the descent down the much less daunting side of Half Dome.

However, after days of climbing, and just around 300 feet from the top, things were looking grim. There didn’t seem to be a way to go forward – no bumps in the rock face for natural handholds, and no cracks to hammer in pitons and create their own handholds. 

If it really wasn’t possible to go on, that meant that the only way off this sheer wall was back down the way they had come. As the first to attempt this climb, they had no idea if a retreat down the rock face was even possible, and the group’s anxiety was growing.

“I looked down at the way we had come up. I really didn’t want to go back down there,” Robbins later wrote in a memoir, noting that Gallwas was taking the lead on this seemingly hopeless stretch of the climb. “The suspense became acute. What would he find?”

But then!

“As Jerry moved up, I noticed that, more and more, he was leaning out, searching the wall to his left. Suddenly, he shouted, ‘A ledge! There’s a ledge! An amazing ledge!’” Undetectable from even a few feet below if you didn’t know it was there, there was indeed a flat shelf in the rock. The trio whooped, cheered, and hauled themselves up onto the ledge. Thank God.

But the Thank God Ledge isn’t a place to stop and stay. It is heart-stoppingly narrow (to my mind, at least), with a width ranging from about 15 inches at the widest to about 8 inches at the narrowest. Even less hospitably, it slopes downward, and the rock wall beside it bulges out in places, forcing climbers walking the ledge to lean toward the precipice as they move onward. But moving along that path leads to a system of seams in the rock face that makes the final push to the peak possible.

That is the beauty of the Thank God Ledge – the provision of a way to move onward. For Robbins and his friends, and for many other skilled climbers in the decades that have followed, it was a place for temporary rest, to regroup, marvel at how far they had come, and chart the path ahead.

After being blurted out in a moment of unexpected relief, the ledge’s name stuck, marking a tabernacle of sorts where embodied souls can pause for a moment, inhaling and exhaling a breath of thanks, whether that comes from a place of religious spirituality or not.

It’s hard to stare into an expanse, be it an ocean, the night sky, a vista seen from a great height, or even the expanse of the memories that we carry, without grappling with big feelings and deep thoughts. 

When I reflect on my life, I breathe gratitude for the Thank God Ledges that I have experienced. I have had moments where I did not see the way forward, where looking back only meant looking down with anxiety, wondering if I had come all this way for nothing. But then, seemingly out of nowhere – a ledge! There’s a ledge! An amazing ledge! Sometimes that ledge was an unexpected change in circumstances, sometimes it was just the right amount of much-needed money coming at just the right moment. Many times the ledge has been a dear friend. 

Perspective shifts at the ledge. Looking back at the landscape that just moments ago was only a terrifying obstacle of retreat, suddenly we see beauty, progress, and possibilities revealed.

Don’t get me wrong – it’s still not un-terrifying. My heart races just watching video footage of climbers navigating the ledge, and my feet are on terra firma as I watch. Similarly, in my Thank God Ledge moments, my challenges weren’t completely behind me yet. There was still worry, and risk, and yeah, some fear. But there was new hope – and a breath of thanks.

For all of you climbing a rock face right now, searching for a handhold, may you find your Thank God Ledge. See you at the summit.

*If you’re familiar with the outdoor apparel and equipment company North Face, you’ll recognize that their logo is a stylized image of Half Dome!