We were camping in Sequoia National Park when we discovered Moro Rock. We didn’t have any expectations going in. But, the sign at the foot was unsettling. When they warn that snow can cause you to fall to your death or that you might be struck by lightning, you begin to take the height seriously.

The trek to the top was terrifying. At times, the rail along the edges was tall enough that Libbie could have slipped below and into the void. Other times, the rail was so low that with one stumble, it could have hit my shins and I could have tumbled over the side.

We were half way up, and LaShera was inclined to head back down. But, I encouraged everyone to persevere.

I’m fairly certain I was hugging the rocks on the inside of the trail by the time we reached the top. I may have even been climbing on all fours, because the vertigo was kicking in. I fully admit that my memory of the climb may have been a bit clouded by concern for keeping my 3 children alive. Libbie has always had a pension for straying close to the edge. (e.g. at the Grand Canyon, she teased, “Look, daddy, I’m close to the edge.”)

When we reached the peak alive, it was worth it. A narrow strip jutted out over a deep drop into the mountain trenches. We could have stayed forever—partly because of the beauty, and partly because the path down was the same as the path up. Except, you had to walk down the side closest to the outside of the cliff.

Gulp.

Still… if you ever go, see this place.

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