Read your page and it took me back when stoney point was surrounded by orange trees and open land. Manson family lived around the corner but I had this great mountain all to myself. I was free to think and believe that life was sacred. The wind on top of this great rock was as if I just stepped off the edge I too could glide like redtails that soared at my eye level. The swallows would dart past my head and I can remember almost placing my foot in a bee hive, or having a flock of pigeons dart out into my face when I was in a technical climb. Each time I challenged death I became closer to life. Climbing at my time was new. I was fairly poor at this time when equipment started to become more available. I had free climbed for about ten years before I took a climbing class. As I escaped form the city to this spiritual place of intrigue for the first time I realized I, or should I say the rock was being invaded by people that seemed to enjoy the smashing sound of glass against the skin of the earth. I slowly saw this place become a melting ground of the human race at it's best. I hid at the top and would climb down into the crevasse on a hot day and enjoy the coolness this earth had to offer. More and more people started arriving, but then rock climbing was becoming a fad, or sport. Somehow putting a label on something so intensely spiritual bothered me at the time. It wasn't too bad to have so many people enjoying this thing I marveled at so many years. Then it happened, getting to the top meant more to some than climbing. They forced their way up, digging, bolting, and using pitons, conquering nothing but ones own ego. The scares were horrendous, It would rain and the rock face wept the chalk holes dug out by the axes. It was time for me to leave and so I moved to Oregon where the graffiti is less and somehow I still find time to climb.