“Be sure to pack your approach shoes,” said Eric Kohl last Saturday morning. “You won’t need your harness or chalk bag.”

Our objective for the day was to summit San Pedro rock, an uplifted, tilted and pointy island 15 miles south of San Francisco. It would be Eric’s third time up the rock outcropping off the coast of Pacifica. His first time was with Josh Thompson, a longtime Yosemite climber and friend. The second time was done solo a few weeks prior to our adventure during a day with fog so thick he could barely see the rock in front of him, plus he had “a slight hangover.” His intension was to place a summit register on its highest point. It would be our first day climbing together.

Eric, 46, is a Yosemite big wall climber/first ascentionist/soloist of 20 years, and a master of climbing rock of any quality from poor at best to bullet hard. To him, ascending the weather beaten island made of crumbling rock resembling dirt clods covered in bird excrement was similar to climbing in the Sierras. The real comparison here is the remoteness, the simplicity, and the choss. Over the past few years he’s all but hung up his aiders and tucked his haulbag in the back of his closet, choosing instead the freedom of uninhibited movement and just getting out there, way out there, often alone.

On the approach we’d pass sea lions, navigate over slick seaweed, hop over rocks in the water and dodge incoming waves, but the rest, regarding the mental state was the same as any other climb: to navigate to the summit by intuition.

Getting to the sub summit consisted of crawling over dried foliage, sand, and cube shaped ribs of decomposing seabed. One had to always remember to maintain three points of contact on the rock at all times. It was ok, so long as you didn’t look down.

He urged me to lead us the final ridge to the summit. I stepped across an abyss, steep, wet rock on both sides, and crumbling clods underfoot. I made it a few steps then retreated. “Third class,” he said.

Wikipedia states third class is “steeper scrambling with increased exposure and a greater chance of severe injury, but falls are not always fatal.”

He was clearly sandbagging – a fall would be certain death. I blocked the scene of a hold supporting bodyweight cutting loose, my body tumbling down the face and wondering if I would die before hitting the water. Then he hopped past me, kicked a few cracked holds out of the way and mantled up onto a spiny ridge. I stayed close; watching his movements and replacing self doubt and short movements with firm, deliberate moves. Confidence would replace debilitating fear. I repeated the mantra – you’ll get out of this, you always do.

Worst case, I thought, was that the holds underfoot would break free, a handhold would crumble and I’d belly flop onto the ridge, half my body on either side, and friction of my mid-region in contact with grit acting as a self arrest. Really, what I was tapping into is that line — the place where success is met by removing the elements that otherwise get in the way. For a split moment I could imagine how Eric navigated through kitty litter rock on some of his harder aid climbing routes. It’s about being in that moment, keeping firm to the rules of engagement, and continuing to move forward. Here, had I grown desperate halfway through the climbing there would be nowhere to seek safety; I would do it in a panic or do it as relaxed as possible, the outcome would be the same. I blocked out negative thoughts, stayed focused at the task and followed him to the summit.

Once on top he reached over and gave me a high five. It turned out to be an awkward moment and it took me several meager attempts to slap his palm – the summit barely was wide enough for me to sit on with one cheek, and losing balance was not something I wanted to risk.

We signed our names in the little white book, rolled it up and stashed it in the plastic container. Eric covered it with some fist-sized rocks he’d picked up along the way and we reversed our steps.

It made sense what we’d done. It was one part old school, just a couple of dudes reaching an untamed summit with any means necessary. Then etching our names for the next generation and be on our way. It also brought me back to that mental space in climbing where everything is in control, even if it means teetering on the edge, until it is safe to take your guard down. It provided a much-needed sense of calmness, balance, and, for those brief moments, nothing else mattered. There’s beauty in that.

We descended the decomposing ridge lines and dragon spines, hopped through the seaweed, past a sea lion awkwardly bouncing its way back into the ocean, and headed back to the beach. “That’s the worst rock I’ve ever climbed” said Eric.

Likely no one has summited San Pedro Rock before Eric, Josh and now I. Adventures are where you choose them, you just have to engage and keep moving forward.