A white-knuckle climb up Yosemite's Half Dome

With my neck craned all the way back, I gazed up at the towering mountain.

Half Dome is a beautifully constructed piece of land carved by Mother Nature that shows what nature, what Yosemite, can really look like and be. From the moment my eyes landed on it, I knew I was going to climb it. But I was just a little girl then, not old enough, not strong enough, to even think about doing it. So I waited.

Years have passed since then, various visits to Yosemite came and went, and each time I was there, I looked up at Half Dome with amazement glittering in my eyes. And each year I knew I was one year closer to climbing it, to defeating it.

Once I turned 13, I was ready. With months of training for the daylong hike up a strenuous mountainside, I was physically ready. But of course, physically fit is way different from mentally fit, but I didn't know that when I started my 14-hour hike with my family on a crisp early June morning.

The moon was still high in the sky — its light helping guide our way seemed perfect. No wind. No rain. Only the sound of water flowing in a nearby stream and our footsteps hitting the ground. It wasn't till we got to the cables that I learned the hard way that the gap of physically prepared and mentally prepared was much larger than I had anticipated.

Before I left for California, I looked up many pictures of Half Dome to help prepare myself for what was to come, especially the steep, narrow section lined by cables that my parents told me about. When I saw the pictures, it didn't look that bad, so I thought I could do it easily. But I was wrong. No pictures of the cables would do justice to what it looks like in real life.

When my eyes landed on that 45-to 60-degree angle up the side of Half Dome, I couldn't help but stop dead in my tracks, my breath getting caught in my throat as my mouth gaped open at the sight. My fear of heights exploded inside me as I took a staggering step back. My eyes became round as saucers as I looked up, my eyes following the path of the cables up, up, up. I stopped with my head tilted all the way back, practically hitting my shoulder blades.

I could feel blood pumping from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. My breathing became shaky and my legs felt like Jell-O as they wobbled beneath me, almost giving out. I remember thinking I could stop here, that there was no need to get to the top, that I had made it far enough, why push myself and make myself feel uncomfortable if I could easily avoid it. But that's not what my brother thought.

Without him, I probably never would have made it to the top. He encouraged me, he helped push me up the cables with his words. He was with me every step of the way, every breath, always there to make sure I never turned around, never gave up hope, never stopped. He was my eyes because I never looked up — I refused to, or else I would freeze and never make it. I grasped so tightly to the ropes that my hands turned white.

The only thing I saw while walking up were my own two feet as they shakily made one step up after another, trying to get good grip on the slick stone underneath me. Everything in my body was telling me to turn around, that this wasn't safe. And as much as I wanted to do just that, I knew I couldn't. With the help of my brother, I focused on my breathing and his words as much as I could, trying not to think about how high up I was. I yanked myself up with one pull after the other as hard as I could for who knows how long. But soon enough, my brother stopped talking and when I looked up, I smiled.

Because I had made it.

Emma Jackson lives in Lakeville.