Escape from New York - Part 2

Living in the jungle of New York I would often find myself jolted awake in the middle of the night by something I could only generally describe as a panic attack. I would jerk upright (even jump out of bed on occasion) and perhaps yelp out something nonsensical before fully coming to my wits and realizing that, despite my surest conviction, I was indeed still alive, groggy and sweating profusely in my over-heated Brooklyn apartment. During those nights when I couldn’t sleep, I would lie on my back and watch the light from the basement stoop across the street turn on and off at random intervals, non-stop, all night long.

I first noticed this phenomenon one restless, anxious night, reflected off the darkened ceiling. I pointed it out to my boyfriend the next morning, and from then on it became a frequent activity of ours to watch the porch light and speculate about its origins. Perhaps it was a secret signal among the neighborhood kids or something drug related, involving Morse code and runners stationed on each corner of our block. One night, in an a dramatic twist, the cops showed up around 4am and quietly crept in and out of the suspicious stoop. We stayed up for the next hour speculating about mob schemes and corrupt cops and watching the light blithely flicker on and off on and off. 

In our first proper night camping, I thought about that light and that room and that life. How different it was to be curled in my sleeping bag at the base of a cliff, nestled against the Cumberland Plateau, my entire body pleasantly exhausted from a full day of climbing. I could hear the Tennessee River trickling gently below us, and outside our tent the only light around came from the embers of our fire, which glowed warm and dull as I drifted off to sleep. When I awoke in the grey morning light, I thought again about the flickering light and mentally scanned my body for any anxiety that might be lurking—something I often did before hauling myself out of bed after a sleepless night for another long, day at the office beneath the miserable fluorescent lights. This morning, like all the others since we started our trip, I found myself thoroughly relaxed — so much so that I couldn’t focus long on this activity, and soon my mind drifted to the sound of the birds calling out the start of their day and the awesome climbing in store for us. 

We had been in Tennessee for several days at this point, exploring the many varied ways to climb rock in the Chattanooga area. After our day bouldering at Little Rock City and a much needed rest day, we headed straight out to the Tennessee Wall. 

The T-Wall is a convenient 30 minutes or so from Chattanooga, but far enough outside the city to feel remote. It features gorgeous views of the Tennessee River Gorge from the base of the crag, and even better views when you get up on a route. We were able to secure a great camping spot, right by the small parking lot for the crag, which made the morning commute from our tent to the approach trail about a minute. Can’t beat waking up at the crag. After a steep but thankfully short hike in, you come to the wall itself, which is made up of a very long band of the perfect, angular, bright orange sandstone I am so growing to love. The approach trail ends at a waterfall that arcs gracefully down from the cliff summit, and from that point you can go either North or South to get down to business.