Sheer Exhilaration

I’d been cooped up for too long in the city and longed for an adventure -- so I signed up for a rock climbing class. Not on a climbing wall in a gym. Outside. On real rocks.

My husband, young son and I headed to the hills above Ojai, winding up a mountain road wedged between soaring cliffs. There we met James deMalignon, our climbing instructor, and the rest of our party: Tena Parker-Liddiard, a Hollywood hairdresser, and her two sons C.J., 10, and Cole, 7. Parker-Liddiard is a real climber. She has done bouldering and climbing indoors and out and has a donated ligament in her left knee to prove it. Her two sons have climbed indoors, but this was their first time on real rocks. My husband and I were total beginners.

Handsome, muscular, easygoing and calm in a crisis, DeMalignon grew up by a river in Oregon, with a dog and a fishing pole. He is National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) certified, trained in wilderness first aid, has climbed and taught others for 10 years and leads outdoor adult fitness camps for the YMCA.

We paid $150 each for this five-hour group excursion. We’d get personal coaching, and DeMalignon would supply the equipment, from shoes to ropes. (For more than five people the cost drops to $100.)

This would be not a class but an outing, DeMalignon told me before our trip. There were no ground-level lectures on technique and not much jargon. We were learning by doing, on the rock. DeMalignon pointed out that someone who is serious about learning rock climbing should take two or three classes indoors, to practice technique, before taking it outside.

No doubt. But for me, starting outside was inspirational.

We loaded our packs on our backs and headed into Wheeler Gorge, rock-hopping along a dappled creek. You could hear the wind in the trees, the sound of a waterfall in the distance and an occasional Harley roaring by on the highway. The woods smelled like summer.

About five minutes in we stopped by a still, green pool for our first ascent, known in the guidebooks as “South of the Trout Farm.” It had a 5.9 Yosemite rating, DeMalignon informed us. That didn’t mean much to me, but I filed that detail away so I could boast about it later. If I made it.

Visible only to one who knew where to look, a tiny trail of bolts slithered up the rock. That would be our route. DeMalignon effortlessly scaled the 40-foot rock first, without support, to thread the rope through the bolts for the rest of us. Parker-Liddiard went next, climbing right up the rock in about two minutes flat without breaking a sweat or mussing her perfectly blow-dried hair. Both of them had climbed this rock before.

Now it was time for C.J. He was the first of the group to make the rock look like a challenge. About 10 feet up he yelled, “How is this the best route?” He rested, but he made it to the top, and he looked elated. He just stayed up there looking around, drinking in the scenery.

Cole went next. He was more frightened. But he made it too.

Finally it was my turn. I slipped into a special harness with a chalk bag in back and donned silver rock-climbing shoes. They fit so tightly I felt like a ballerina in toe shoes.

Before I started DeMalignon gave me some tips. Keep your hips open, he advised. You don’t want to be curled up like a ball; you want to spread out like a spider. Your legs can support your body longer than your arms can, so use your legs.

“You can stand on your toes for six hours,” he said. “You can only hang by your fingers for about three minutes.”

And climb like a monkey, he advised. And so I climbed, monkey-like, for the first 15 feet without a problem. Then I got stuck.

There were no handholds and no footholds. I was clinging to a rock high in the air, held by a rope whose strength I did not want to test. The only voice I could hear was DeMalignon’s, guiding me to where I needed to go.

“Follow the bolts,” he kept telling me.

The bolts are a trail, but they are for ropes only. They are not like the handholds you grab onto at a climbing gym. You are not supposed to grasp them or, worse, put your fingers in them. You are supposed to look in that vicinity for the handholds and footholds -- even though you might want to head to the left or right. Somehow DeMalignon was guiding me to tiny crevices and outcroppings I couldn’t see, even though they were right in front of me and he was 20 feet below.

Fear set in. “Hold me, James. Hold me,” I shouted, too terrified to be embarrassed. I saw the bolt, and I wanted to put my fingers in it just as C.J. had. “Don’t ever put your finger in the bolt,” DeMalignon said. “If you fall, it will cut your fingers off.”

This isn’t a battle of muscle, I realized. This is all about the mind. Can you hold on when your toes are numb, your fingers are clawing into a half-inch indentation for balance, and your body is trembling all over from exertion? “Breathe,” someone yelled.

I cheated a few times, grabbing my support rope so I wouldn’t fall, but I made it to the top. My throat was parched, sweat trickled down my temples and, after I’d rappelled backward down the rock (the best part), I noticed that my forearms were so weak I couldn’t write. I had worn a heart rate monitor, and I noticed that my rate had soared to 150. When I got down I saw that I had been in my target zone virtually the entire time I was on the rock. I didn’t even know how much time had passed.

“Rock climbing is one of the most intense workouts you can experience outside,” DeMalignon said. “Rock climbing is Pilates applied.” It works nearly all the body’s muscles, including the abs, arms, legs and back.

C.J. sidled up to me back down by the green pool.

“So do you feel self-conscious?” he asked. (I hadn’t until then.)

We packed up and moved down the creek to our next cliff, called “Cobble Climb.” It was only a 5.8 (slightly easier), but it looked harder. The rock was what’s known as conglomerate -- smaller rocks embedded in a bigger rock. It was steep, with no clear crevices and a jutting lip at the bottom that you had to navigate before you could even start climbing. By the time it was my turn, I felt like I had forgotten everything I’d learned.

“Put away your notes and listen to your instincts,” C.J. coached.

“Follow the chalk,” said Tena. “See where others have grabbed before.”

This time I could barely get off the ground and around the lip. It was a strange surface, beautiful but unfamiliar. There were small holes where stones had fallen out, and you had to find them by feel, like a blind man. None would hold you for more than 10 seconds, it seemed.

“Commit with your legs,” DeMalignon yelled from below, “and the opportunities will present themselves.”

At the moment, it sounded like the most profound advice I had ever heard. I got into a beginner’s rhythm, a state of concentration in which I lost track of time. I wasn’t crying for help anymore. The world faded away as I climbed away from people, toward the sky and the sun.

Afterward we sat on the rocks in the river and ate our sandwiches. I took a dip in a swimming hole with water so fresh it was sweet on my lips. Butterflies flitted by, bugs skated across the water, and the kids skipped stones. My fingers and toes were sore, my knees were bruised and my forearms were so thrashed I could barely grip the steering wheel for the drive back. But I felt great. It was California, the way you dream it will be, and we’d had a perfect summer day.

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Upward bound

Southern California offers spectacular climbing spots within hours of the city, from the seaside cliffs of Point Dume in Malibu to the sticky sandstone rocks at Stoney Point in Chatsworth and the great desert boulders of Joshua Tree. A select list of instructors and classes:

Get Lost Adventures in Marina del Rey offers rock climbing lessons and classes at Stoney Point and in the Santa Monica Mountains. Contact: www.getlostadventures.com

Joshua Tree Rock Climbing School in Joshua Tree National Park offers classes in winter and summer. (Summer classes are in Idyllwild.) Contact: www.rockclimbingschool.com

Vertical Adventures in Newport Beach offers classes in Joshua Tree in winter and in Idyllwild in summer. Contact: www.vertical-adventures.com

James deMalignon leads outings to Malibu Creek State Park, Ojai and Stoney Point. Contact: jimidefive11c@yahoo.com

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Hilary MacGregor can be reached by e-mail at hilary

.macgregor@latimes.com.