Things aren't always as they seem and plans to climb big walls don't always work out as one intends.
For Trad climbers, a chance to visit Yosemite and climb its spectacular walls is a dream most don't get to experience. This was my second visit to the valley and this time I wanted to bag a big wall.
I had started making these plans while in New York State at the beginning of April, and everything outside was still covered in a blanket of snow. My travels were taking me to California in May and I wasn't going to go all that way without stopping in at Yosemite for a climb. A partner would be required, so after a bit of searching, I found Ray who had already climbed the Nose of El Cap twice and was looking to have a go at a different route. His plan was to climb one of the longest routes up El Capitan, the Salathé or Southwest face. This climb begins with 10 pitches of Freeblast, made famous by Alex Honnold when he climbed it solo, and then 25 more pitches running from the Heart ledges, past the El Cap spire and breaking up out of the massive headwall at the top of the face.
The rest of the month was spent buying gear and incessantly reading trip reports and topo's of the climb to try and familiarise myself with the route as much as possible before my arrival. Those weeks went by quickly, and before I knew it, I was driving out from San Francisco to Yosemite valley.
We would be meeting in El Portal at the entrance to the park due to Camp 4 still being closed and strict restrictions on visitors due to the Covid pandemic, even though everyone I had met had already been vaccinated. This was dirtbagging at its best, with both sides of the road next to the river filled with cars and vans, and everyone cooking and sleeping in their vehicles. We had met at 3 pm, that first day, and immediately set off to climb the Generator Crack so Ray could see how well I could aid climb. Satisfied that I knew what I was doing, we then set off to hike the trail below El Cap to the base of Salathé to deposit 6 gallons of water for the climb before returning to El Portal for the night.
The next morning, we made our way to the Cookie Cliff to do some C2 climbing on a pin-scar route named Stigma. The rock was smooth and the crack running up was too small for fingers. The scars in the crack had been made by the first climbers who had hammered pitons in and out of the rock for years before cams were invented. These scars are outward flaring and smooth which make it difficult for gear placement except for the odd offset micro-cams and the occasional cam hook. I clipped the gear to my harness and set off with the goal of reaching the rings at the top of the first pitch. Placing one of the smallest cams high into the crack, I clipped in the rope, then the ladder and climbed up to clip my harness into the cam. Reaching as far as I could, I then repeated the process. By the third piece, my feet were around 6m off the ground, and while climbing up the ladder the piece of gear I was on popped out of the wall and I went plummeting to the ground. This seemed to happen first in slow motion, and then at full speed. I landed with a dull thud, on my back across a pile of rocks and looking up I was surprised to see the shock and horror in Ray's eyes. He had instantly thought that I had broken my back. The fact that I hadn't was a miracle, and on standing up we checked to see if anything was broken. With much surprise, I realised that I was still in one piece, so I dusted myself off, tossed the cam which had popped to the ground and set off to finish the route. An hour and a half later, I clipped the chains and shouted with joy as I was lowered back to the ground. Ray then had a go at climbing the route using mostly cam hooks while still attached to the security of the top rope.
When we were done with Stigma, we practised some hauling on a sport route in the valley, then drove to the base of El Cap, packed the pig and started the hike up to the climb so we could set it on the wall. Ray had last-minute work obligations so we would be shortcutting the route by jugging directly up to the Heart ledges and then do the Freeblast section after the climb if there was time. If not, we would complete it the following week. As we were hiking up, I could feel the effects of the fall setting in. Everything started to hurt and I had to decide on every step which parts of my body to exert pressure on to get up the hill in the least amount of pain. Finally, at the base of the wall, I clipped on my ascenders and made my way up to the top of the first rope length while trailing the haul line. At the anchors, I set the haul and started the painfully slow process of bringing up the pig. By the time we were both up at the first anchor, with the bag secured to the bolts, it was already 7 pm and I was feeling shattered. The next day would be worse and was doubting our chances of success, but we secured the gear to the wall and rapped down intending to return the following morning.
I didn't get any sleep that night. Spasms of pain ripped through my body all night and in the morning I felt as if a bus had hit me, reversed and then proceeded to hit me again. I barely made it to the start of the ropes at the base of the wall, and when we did get there, I collapsed and could go no further. Ray jugged up to release the pig and reluctantly dropped it back down to the ground.
A week later, we met at the base of El Cap and went for a climb on the first few pitches of Freeblast. I had done some climbing in the valley after recuperating for a few days, but I still didn't feel fit enough for such a big wall. For this and other reasons, I gracefully bowed out of the climb with him.
The other reasons were to do with my safety concerns. Ray, who had 4 years of climbing, had his methods and I had mine. Not to say that his were unsafe, but as someone who has had training in rope access, I couldn't help feeling that his systems were not adequate for such a large wall. When I broached the subject with him, he assured me that this was the way it is done on El Cap, and watching videos of other people climbing that route, I saw no difference between their systems and his. Ray sent me a link to a piece written by Andy Kirkpatrick, https://www.andy-kirkpatrick.com/blog/view/rope-cutting-death, which was supposed to allay my fears, but it didn't. Instead, it made me realise that some prefer to roll the dice when it comes to safety.
Look, there are many different people and many different ways of doing things. I've seen people belay with a figure 8, or a munters hitch. I prefer a bug but bought a grigri for El Cap because it is safer. There is a time and place for safer systems, and yes, a time when weight is an issue and impacts on safety, but when you choose to leave a static rope behind and instead toss a bunch of canned food into the bag, I have legitimate concerns.
While jugging up El Cap on that single dynamic rope, I almost had a heart attack every time the rope reset itself with a 'thwack' on the rock. The image of John Harlin falling from the Eiger is always in my head when jummaring. To me, it serves as a cautionary tale and one to learn from, not to be brushed off as a freak accident. Climbing is supposed to be fun, but at that moment I wasn't having fun. I asked Ray to tie off the extra slack and drop the other end down to me. After attaching my micro traxion to the second line, and clipping into it, I immediately felt safer and was able to ascend the rope faster and with a smile.
Hopefully, one day I can return to Yosemite and get to climb El Cap, but if I do, I would rather take a week and feel safe than scare the shit out of myself trying to do it quickly. While abseiling off the wall that final time, I remember looking up at that ocean of rock, wishing I could be up there, but knowing I couldn't.
I just whispered to myself, "keep dreaming"...
Great read & well done on making the tough, but right decisions, for you & your safety.