The Tahoe Diaries: Cliff Jumps & Midnight Swims

When you’re napping and set to lounge around on a dock with your friend, and you get an invite to go cliff jumping, you say yes. 

Say yes to any adventure, for that matter.

There’s nothing quite like climbing a makeshift rope ladder up an exposed rock 30 feet in the air during a thunderstorm. Especially when lightning is less than a mile off (if we counted right) and you’re scared of heights, like me.

Climbing, however, committed me to the jump.

I got up there after my friends, Katelyn, Jakob, and Patrick, and we immediately sorted out that I was going first. My knees trembled ever so slightly and I tried to keep as much of my body gripping the top of the rock as possible, refusing to let myself acknowledge what I was doing.

That’s the thing about fear, you can’t give it enough time to take over your rational decisions (because yes, cliff jumping with lightning is rational). 

The four of us had shuffled down a trail near D.L. Bliss in sandals to make our way to Rooster Rock. We hopped over logs and branches, dusting our toes with dirt and looking out at the grey sky. Some boaters asked how we got there, shocked to find people jumping without a boat in sight.

The boys regretted their flip-flops, and my Chacos proved most fit for what they didn’t expect to be a hike. I ended up playing trail guide, guesstimating how much further we had to go on my out of service map and hiding in rocks to pop out at my friends. 

The stormy sky was stubborn. Droplets snagged our noses as we made it down to the water. We all looked at each other when lightning flickered across the sky, momentarily frozen while we counted barely 10 seconds before the clap of thunder. (Disclaimer: do not try this at home). We were already there, though, and the boys jumped in the water to race to Rooster Rock. Katelyn and I hopped and scooted like amateur climbers along the rocky shoreline.

Once atop the rock, I edged my way on my hands and knees to peer below the overhang, and spent way too long miming where I’d plant my jumping foot on the leap. Fear had me picturing my toe catching on a raised lip of stone and my body missing the clearance of the rock.

I felt it out and began my countdown.

And then I was airborne.

And I saw the water so far away, and all I could think (and yell) was fuck fuck fuck, my body caught off guard by the plunge, and time seemingly slowing as I made my pencil.

Exhilaration.

Water shoved itself up my nose as my descent stopped and I bobbed back to the surface where Patrick said he didn’t think I’d jump. I coughed out water through my grin. I’m not one to back down.

Then we did it again. I knew I’d wish I had gone more than once if I stopped there.

I got everyone sniffing ponderosa pine trees on the hike back up. They smell like cookies or melting sugar and vanilla, especially when they’ve been sitting in the sun. You can tell it’s a ponderosa because of the way it is (its bark pulls off like puzzle pieces). How neat is that? Just like nature. (I hope you’ve seen Neature Walk).

A day out in Tahoe never feels complete without a drink. If you really want a taste of the mountain life, some tasty libations are likely going to be involved (just remember to pack it out).

On the car ride out of Bliss, we decided to make our way to Chamber’s Landing.

Their boat dock is the perfect place for a midday drink and some people watching. It’s an iconic piece of my Tahoe.

We nabbed a table outside the boat house turned bar and I practically dozed off in the sun, stealing sips of my friends’ drinks and observing the tame bachelorette party nearby.

There’s something about the moon and girlhood. Maybe that’s why Artemis was the moon and Apollo the sun.

The full moon calls for swimming under the night sky, floating and sharing your wishes with it. It draws you into its serenity when you bathe in the silver-tipped waves painted by the moon.

Katelyn and I ran down the dock after watching the alpenglow from my backyard. Dusk had settled and we hadn’t gotten enough of the lake.

We danced on the dock, undressing ourselves to the night before diving into the dark depths, feeling stones under our toes and listening to the pulsing beat of the water. 

There’s something primal and pure about embracing the darkness. Feeling grounded with life as you float weightlessly in the belly of the earth.

Give yourself over to the stillness and quiet as you float, suspended in a stream of your own thoughts and hopes. Think of the little magics of life and reach out to clasp your friend’s hand as your hair intertwines with hers and the waves brush your cheeks. This is life.

Embrace the tangle of the wild. The knots it runs through your hair, the tears it blows into your eyes, the scratches it caresses onto your skin. The touch of nature leaves a mark I love.

When the lake cooled our skin and pruned our fingers, we sat mesmerized on the dock. The moonlight danced over the rippling lake like electricity, sparks popping off each wave. I felt full and grateful. 

I smothered Katelyn in a hug and she swayed us to Noah Kahan. It’s like a gift when Katelyn hugs me— she rarely touches people, so I let her initiate, but I couldn’t help myself.

It always stuck with me when Chris McCandless said that happiness is only real when shared. Sharing moments of presence and connection feels like the epitome of being alive.

People forget to make room for little adventures because an experience may only come around once. So forget about the money and the little to-do list and LIVE, so you can look back and know you did it all.

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