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El
Capitan:
A
Journey
to the Vertical Limit
After nearly a year of mental
preparation and physical training consisting of cycling, lifting
weights, filling packs loaded with as much water and climbing gear
as they could hold then trudging up hill for 2 hours, and of
course climbing thousands of vertical feet, I felt physically
ready for the climb.
However, what I was unable to
train for was the feeling being nearly 3,000' off the ground, on
the side of a sheer granite face.
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| Before I left, people in my life
said goodbye in the most interesting ways, wonderful character
building statements such as, "I've always loved you,
Greg." Or my favorite, “You know what you are doing is
totally insane and meaningless." They were meant to be
lighthearted and funny, and they were.
That morning, I woke up at 4:30am
in a campground famous in the climbing community called Camp 4. It
was still dark. Ken Yeager, my climbing partner, was sleeping on
the ground outside. As I crawled out of my tent he sits up and
says, “Are you psyched?" and I of course say, "Yeah, I
am." We guzzled coffee, ate, then bailed out of camp.
Driving out of Camp 4, listening
to reggae music we arrived at the base of El Capitan maybe 10
minutes later. As we stopped, a huge bear walked right in front of
our car, as it scampered up the trail we were about to take, we
turned and saw an even bigger 500 pounder walking right toward us,
maybe 60 feet away. “How cool was that?" I said, feeling
fortunate to see two bears in the wild.
At around 5 am we started up the
approach, a substantial hike up 1,000 feet of talus and boulders
to the base of the climb. I was surprised at how tired I got so
very early in the day. I was in a full blown sweat and worked by
5:30am. The approach took about an hour and I was relieved to see
Ken was as worked and out of breath as I was.
We quickly amassed all the gear
and ropes we would need and started right up the first section
which was a lovely little section called "The Chimney"
(imagine climbing up your own chimney, except it's about 8 stories
tall.) A thuggish proposition indeed, however I found it...
well... sick as it is... fun.
As we arrived at the 2nd belay
station a party of climbers arrived at the base of the climb,
which instantly made the whole adventure much more intense.
Causing a rock to fall, or the prospect of dropping any equipment
on the climbers below could start chain of events that you would
not be able to stop. People can, and do, get injured this way all
the time… very scary. Ken started up the third pitch and said,
"We got to cruise now to stay ahead of the other team."
I agreed.
When it was my turn to climb, I
was unable to remove this one tiny piece of protection, which he
adequately set in a crack. I was in an awkward position, which
made it very strenuous. After maybe 5 minutes of trying, it
popped. “Finally." I say to myself.
My arms pumped and full of lactic
acid, I’m about to do a 10b rated move (the hardest of the
entire climb). Arms cooked and feeling the pressure of having to
move fast, I desperately lunge for this hold that appeared to be
good, it wasn't. As I am falling I am thinking to myself,
"That was really stupid." The rope eventually catches me
and I quickly regain my composure, easily make the sequence on the
second attempt, and was mad at myself for rushing the moves the
first time. I should have known better.
The 3rd & 4th pitches were
beautiful, classic and relatively easy. After a small 3rd class
section, we were beginning to get some "air"... what a
pleasant little term.
Pitches 6 & 7 were some of
the most fantastic crack climbing I have ever done. The process of
ascending the rock placing your hands and feet inside a 2-3 inch
vertical crack for about 100', then culminating in a literal
overhead hand crack was what I had spent countless hours training
for, and it totally paid off, it was a blast. As I pulled the
"roof" Ken smiled and said, "Good work, now the
party’s about to begin!" I felt strong and confident,
however, after he said that, I didn't really know what to expect.
I was soon to find out.
As I belayed atop the nose of the
buttress I watched Ken climb a lay back cracksystem superbly.
After another 60' or 70' he set up a "hanging belay"
meaning you don't really have anything substantial to stand on,
you "hang" off the protection and belay the other
climber. I make quick duty of the crack system and arrive at the
hanging belay. Once clipped in I peer down and see no less than 3
climbing parties directly below... way below... way way below...
maybe 1000' feet or so. As I now feel the impact of where I am,
the question now beckons… And I am doing this because????
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| Every breath I took, I felt.
Remembering that dropping so much as a small piece of rock on the
climbers below could mean disaster, I realize that this section of
the climb was something I couldn't have prepared for. The feeling
of being on a climb that's "airy" (did I mention what a
pleasant little term that is?), somehow doesn't even come close to
the feeling you have when you're there.
At this point, I have to admit
that the prospect of looking down is a feeling somewhat like...
well... hanging off a thousand foot cliff. Not one that is
particularly pleasant, I would say. As I look down at the climbers
1000' below, and the Valley floor, which is 2000' feet below, cars
look like ants and 80' tall trees look like grass. Ken now assures
me that "This isn't the steep section yet... just wait,"
he says with a smile on his face. I try to force a smile back.
As he takes off on the 9th pitch,
the full feeling of my situation has arrived. I still feel strong,
however, my mind is somewhat rattled. As I clean the belay station
I then start out on this "totally exposed" pitch that is
steep and straight up. As I’m climbing, well the
"airy" feeling is definitely taking it's toll. I am
completely at the edge of what I believe I can handle mentally.
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| As I arrive at the start of the
10th pitch I’m informed that the next section will be the most
challenging yet. "The Crux pitch" it’s called. Inside
I say, "Holy ****! That wasn't the crux???... Oh, man."
My thought's then quickly turn to, “This is what you've trained
all year for, let’s go, keep it together!!” Ken climbs around
a small corner and then ascends atop this huge 30' flake and
completely disappears out of sight around a 2nd corner. I say to
myself, "I wonder what's around that 2nd corner?” I soon
find out...
He climbs out of sight for a long
time, maybe 20 min. He finally calls "Off belay Greg!!!"
I respond, "Off belay!!!" I then remove the anchors,
take a BIG deep breath and head out around the first corner. Once
passed, I see that I have to traverse (climb sideways) about 30'
on a very difficult section climbing on a broken 1-2" ledge
and having to clean protection along the way with a 25lb pack on.
The danger in this is, in the event of a fall, you will pendulum
and hit the side of the 2nd corner pretty hard. I am focused and
alert although I have been climbing for 7 hours straight, not to
mention that 1 hour approach. As I pass the traverse without
incident I climb atop this huge white flake. Peering around the
"second corner" I now find, not the friendly 1,000’
exposure but a shear drop of more than 2,500’ directly to the
Valley floor.
I am taken aback at the prospect
of passing this corner. I wasn't scared per se... well... yes, I
was a bit... but more determined to do this without coming
unglued. Because I know if I "Grip"... I'm ******. So a
kind of survival instinct takes over, so to speak. I close my eyes
and say in my mind, "This is what you've worked so hard for
this whole year, you can do it... just slow down your breathing...
slow your pulse rate... focus... focus... focus… And after a
moment... I step out.
Searching for anything to stand
on I find this tiny 1/2" ledge maybe 4" long. Below that
is THOUSANDS of feet to the ground. I then look up (because
frankly it's more comfortable to) and see this completely vertical
wall, maybe 100' straight up. I have to pass another flake by
"under clinging it " before I ascend the wall. Ten feet
out on this flake somehow feels even more exposed, if that is even
possible. I reach behind the flake and cleanly pass it, but still
have to scale this wall with two thousand five hundred feet of
"Air" beneath me to the ground.
I prepared the best I could for
this moment, and it took all the mental control and power I could
possibly find to reach the top of that pitch. I climbed well and
was elated with a feeling of accomplishment that I have not known,
both physical and mental. As I reach Ken I want to say, "Hope
that was the crux?” but I don't for fear that he might say
"No, not yet." Well, that was the crux as far as
exposure goes but the climb is no way over yet. The most dangerous
section is about to come.
Pitches 11 & 12, were in a
different way, some of the sketchiest, scariest sections yet. At
the belay you are standing 1 foot away from this pile of rocks,
big ones, some the size of basketballs stacked on top of one
another all perched on this small sloping ledge. There are 6
people directly below us. One wrong careless move could seriously
injure someone, or worse. As Ken heads up he turns to me and says,
"Be very careful, some of these holds are loose." When
he reaches the belay he makes the point to remind me again a
second time. I literally tiptoe off this ledge to ascend the final
pitches.
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As I climb, I'm startled to find
that “some of the holds” are not loose, ALL of the holds are
loose. When you knock on them they sounded like bongo drums…
nothing solid at all. As I stepped on this rock the size of a
large microwave oven... It shifts about an inch. It took the
breath out of me. I say to myself "Oh man, not only am I
2,500' off the deck with 3 parties below me, but nothing feels
solid." Using all the technique I've learned over the years
to climb "light" every foot placement, every handhold is
treated as if it could pull at any moment. As I arrive at the
belay, Ken tells me, "one more pitch." I liked the sound
of that.
The last pitch was beautiful and
grand. With only the sounds of birds flying by and the view of
Half Dome and the entire Yosemite Valley in the distance I was
still feeling good. And then... as I'm ascending the final pitch,
one large orange butterfly flies next to me. For a moment as I
climb... it was pure and good. We reached the summit at about 3pm,
a very fast time.
After nine hours of climbing, a
one hour approach, and now a two hour descent off the East
Ledges... I had climbed the East Buttress of El Capitan!!!
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