Until Next Time, Yosemite

Sam and I spent our last week cragging. We lusted after the bigger walls and longer climbs, but realized Sam's shoulder wasn't quite up to it. Anyway, now we have a hit list for the next Yosemite trip.

We got on some fabulous cracks at the base of El Cap and interesting mixed lines on Lower Cathedral.

La Cosita Right (on base of El Cap)

Because Sam was injured, I was supposed to lead anything we got on that was harder than 5.8. This gave me a chance to send some awesome 5.10s. (It also gave me more aid practice, opportunity to whine, and Sam the chance to lead anything I got too tired or scared to finish.)

I think I managed to pass my Crack Climbing Crash Course. I will be waiting for my certificate to come in the mail.

Today is the day I leave California. I am grateful for my time here. Thank you beautiful Yosemite; thank you for inviting me Sam.

Hot Springs give, Slab takes away

Monday, June 18th, Sam fell leading the first pitch of Hoodwinked near Tuolumne Meadows. He hurt his shoulder and sliced up his hand.

He needed some time to convalesce, so Tuesday we headed to Mammoth Lakes and started a tour of area hot springs.

Thanks to the internets, we were able to find some amazing spots. In addition to hot spring soaking, Mammoth offered us the opportunity to discover the curative properties of staying in a hotel, going to the movie theater, and eating ice cream.

Thursday, afraid of getting soft and losing our dirtbag edge, we checked out of the hotel and left the cush life behind. That night, we checked out the hipster scene at the Lee Vining Mobil. That's right, the Mobil is where it's at: overpriced fish tacos, microbrew beer, collectible hats and t-shirts, and live music.

Friday, it was back to work. Sam's shoulder had 3 1/2 days to heal. Though he had nowhere near full range-of-motion and winced with pain anytime he used his right arm, we were done resting.

Logically, we figured a 15-pitch 5.10 slab route would be the perfect segue back into climbing. Anyway, there were only four actual 5.10 pitches; the rest were merely 5.8 or 5.9.

In the afternoon, we started the 4.5 mile hike in to the top of North Dome. We planned to camp there and hike down a gully to start the route--the Crest Jewel--Saturday morning. We would top out on the dome and hike back to the car by dark.

The hike in was awesome. We got close-up views of Half Dome for the first time.

From the top of North Dome, we went on an exploratory mission to find a reasonable descent route to the base of the Crest Jewel. After some traipsing around wet slabs and bushwacking, we were adequately satisfied that we'd find an efficient way to start the route in the morning.

Sam prepared a top notch camp dinner of quinoa and vegetable jalfrezi garnished with scavenged mustard packets and backpack-aged avocado. After dinner, we found a stream to replenish our water supply with.

Saturday morning, we enjoyed a scrumptious breakfast of Nutella on bread before starting out on our grueling epic--uh, I mean delightful adventure.

The adequate descent trail we had scoped the night before disappeared after about 30 minutes of hiking. From there, the 1200' decent involved walking through and crawling under thick madrone bushes, down climbing ledges, ass-sliding down dirty slopes, and balancing over lichen cover slabs for what Sam insists was a maximum of 2 hours.

We made it to the base of the Crest Jewel without injury and only minimal whining/swearing/growling from one of us.

Sam: "Getting angry won't help matters. Just enjoy this day alive on planet Earth!"

Amelia: "Don't tell me not to get angry!"

Sam: "At least your shoulder's not broken."

Amelia: "Hmph."


Once at the cliff, it was impossible not to be thrilled. We were high above the Valley with cool views. The slab looked inviting.

We had agreed that I would lead all the hard pitches because of Sam's injury. That meant Sam was up to lead the first 5.8 pitch. The sparse bolting and lack of use of his right arm only slowed Sam down a notch.

I started up the next 10a pitch ambitiously. I made it to the third bolt on the low angle, sometimes sandy slab before the runouts started to bother me. The fourth bolt--to Sam's memory--was diagonally 10 feet up from the third. The fourth bolt--to my freaked out, afraid to take a pendulum, cheese grater fall mind--was diagonally 25 feet up from the third.

After climbing up and down over a two foot section of rock for 10 minutes, I voiced some concern to Sam.

"I hate slab. Why don't they put more bolts on these slab routes? I don't wanna fall on this...I will get hurt for sure! I've never liked slab. We're supposed to be climbing cracks! You better lower me before I start crying."

Back on the belay ledge, I told Sam that retreat was wise: "You are injured and I can't climb slab--physically or mentally."

Sam reminded me that our only retreat involved climbing back up the steep mess we suffered through that morning and decided to lead the pitch despite his shoulder.

Sam is slab-inclined. He rocks that stuff with his level head and cat-like balance. Watching him confidently navigate the pitch settled my nerves. I was ready to lead the crux 5.10d third pitch.

The third pitch was much steeper than the second. So, even though it was technically harder, the falls would be clean. The bolts were only about 4 feet apart. These details combined to make the pitch one that I was psyched to lead.

I set out from the bolt anchor in slow motion. I calculated each delicate move with Sam's coaching. I was miraculously balanced on minuscule chips and creases, about four feet up from the belay anchor, when I could reach the first bolt. I blindly grabbed the red Alien from my gear loop and clipped it desperately to the bolt as my right foot slipped. As I started what would have been an 8' pendulum fall past Sam and the anchor, I managed to grab the Alien.

Sam and I both breathed a sigh of relief. I replaced the Alien with a quickdraw and pulled myself back onto the rock. I clipped the next three bolts in much the same way, using the quickdraws as points-of-aid to blow through the 10d crux section.

The next moves were through an easy overhang to a thin face. With my lead-head and footwork skills back, I miraculously climbed through a two-bolt 10c section clean! I was having fun again!

In keeping with our taking-the-free-out-of-free-climbing style, Sam pulled on most of the draws (with his left hand, of course) to follow the pitch.

He started into the next 5.9 pitch with a disclaimer: "My shoulder doesn't work. I never liked slab climbing either."

He made it to the third bolt before the runouts (or maybe the radiating, incapacitating shoulder pain) started to bother him. The fourth bolt--to Sam's memory--was diagonally 10 feet up from the third. The fourth bolt--to my freaked out, afraid to watch Sam take a pendulum, cheese grater fall mind--was diagonally 25 feet up from the third.


After climbing up and down over a two foot section of rock for 10 minutes, Sam voiced some concern to me.

I lowered Sam and took over the lead. Still happy and confident from the previous pitch, I was able to cruise up the 5.9 section of rock. Sam followed the pitch, but wasn't happy when he reached me at the anchor.

Pain and reality were getting in the way of Sam's plan for the day. My lead-head may have gotten stronger over the 4 pitches, but Sam's shoulder was getting weaker. He reluctantly admitted that his injury was preventing him from having fun.

We could see an escape route above. I would lead three-fourths of the next 80' pitch and then break left to a featured ledge that, according to the topo we carried, lead to a third class walk-off.

The climbing was more sustained and just as runout as the second pitch that I had backed-off of, but I loved the fifth pitch. When I got to the point where I planned to traverse off the route and into the escape, Sam encouraged me to finish the route instead.

"You're doing great! You're eating the slab up! We should keep climbing, you can lead all the hard stuff, we can finish the route!" Sam was psyched again. (Oh, the schizophrenic emotional roller coaster of rock climbing.)

I finished the pitch. Sam had fun following the first five feet before his shoulder shut him down.

"I feel cold and whole-body sick," he groaned.

"I think that means you should stop climbing," I announced, my medical know-how overriding my desire to climb.

At the hanging belay we shivered in the wind, ate lunch, and engaged in against-all-good-sense deliberation to keep climbing.

For the first time that day, we made a solid, self-preserving decision and rappelled to the escape ledge.

From the ledge, we followed cairns down into the woods. The decent trail met a gully and we started back up the west side of the North Dome. The west side was far less vegetated than east side we came down in the morning. After an hour an a half, we were back to the spot we had camped at.

We may have been unsuccessful in climbing the Crest Jewel, but we circumnavigated the entire North Dome. That counts for something, right? And we didn't die or get hurt. That definitely counts for something.

Back on top, we ate the rest of the Nutella before we started the 4.5 mile hike out of the woods. Back to the car, we hightailed it to the Valley for pizza, relieved to have our 24-hour, 13-mile,
1400' decent and 1400' ascent (the hike in and out to the road counts too) adventure behind us.

South face of North Dome

"Don't forget Dave"

Sam and I arrived in Tuolumne Meadows on Saturday afternoon. We used up our 7-night allowance at Camp 4 and the forecast called for unclimbably hot temperatures, so we left the Valley for the high country.

We set up at the campground and headed to Lembert Dome to test the Tuolumne rock. We opted for a supposed five star classic—Direct North.

We scrambled up forty feet of third class to what we suspected was the base of the route. Sam tentatively wandered over the first pitch of slab—looking for gear and holds that didn’t crumble to the touch. He stopped after sixty feet, announcing that he was already at the start of the second pitch.

The plan was for me to link the second 5.9 and third 5.9-with-one-10a-move pitches and set Sam up for the final 5.10 pitch. I plunged into my lead, stepping delicately on the sandy, rotten rock. I proceeded slowly but surely.

Route finding was next to impossible. The slab was sprawling; one feature was indistinguishable from the next when compared to the guidebook. 

Our certainty about whether we were on the right route was somewhere around “hunch” level.

After fifty or so feet, it seemed likely that I had worked through the supposed 5.9 second pitch bulge and corner system. For the third pitch, I was looking for a 5.8 crack capped by a 10a overhang. I got to a stance at the start of a crack and plugged in a micro wire and green C3.

I tried working into the crack from a few angles before deciding it didn’t feel like 5.8. My lack of confidence about whether I was on the correct route made it so I didn’t want to climb higher into a potentially harder-than-I-was-prepared-for route. 

I added a red Camelot to a horizontal out right to turn my marginal gear into an anchor. Sam followed the pitch, muttering about poor guidebook instructions, crumbling slab rock, and impossible route finding.

He liked the looks of the crack 15 feet to the right of the one I was set up to start. He traversed over to the easier-looking crack and walked up it without hesitation.

We agreed that the crack I attempted looked harder than 5.8, but we both felt that what Sam led was easier than 5.8. So, maybe we weren’t on the route after all. That uncertainty combined with the dirty rock and the setting sun made us decide to quit for the evening. 

We walked off the slab. Sam confidently—even happily—led the way. I followed reluctantly. We traversed the low angle slab at the path of least resistance, but I still felt like I could topple head-over-heels at any moment.

“Oooh, this is scary. This is dangerous,” I said, trying not to whine.

“If you fall, you aren’t going to die. You probably won’t even get hurt. You’ll just slide to the bottom,” Sam tried to assure me, “Anyway, you won’t fall.”

We made it down and back to camp for early bed, our first-day-in-a-new-area fiascos safely behind us.

Sunday, we took the recommendation of a camp ranger and headed to East Cottage Dome. We wandered around on slabs in the blazing sun for an hour before abandoning the questionable guidebook instructions and following our noses to the crag.

The East Cottage Dome was a welcomed playland after Saturday’s wandering dirty slab fest. The cliff was 70 feet at its highest and generously bolted. The rock was golden with orange and black water streaks. It was steep and featured with knobs. The knobs ranged from car radio dial to spaceship launch pad control size.

We had fun, fun, fun mostly flashing routes rated 10a to 11a.

Monday, we woke up feeling psyched. We headed out to the Harlequin Dome to get on Hoodwinked—a crack line with a 10a roof crux.

The dome was across the road from Tenaya Lake. The landscape was gorgeous. 

We parked next to the lake and sorted through our mess of gear and ropes. In the process of organizing, I set the collage-decorated pill bottle holding Dave’s ashes on the car roof.

That bottle has been traveling with me since my first big adventure after Dave’s death in the summer of 2010. I have scattered Dave in places we enjoyed together—like the Adirondacks and Montreal—places I know Dave loved—like Nashville and Kansas City, and places that feel special to me—like Portland and Yosemite.

Bringing Dave’s remains with me on adventures has been a way for me to heal and to honor Dave. 

Two weeks after accepting Sam's Yosemite invite, I packed my camping and climbing gear along with my travel bottle of Dave and hopped on a plane to California.

Yosemite’s massive beauty has been blowing my mind since my arrival.

I have been reverently spreading Dave’s ashes in beautiful spots.

Dave is floating in Yosemite creeks, he is mixing in with pine needles on the forest floor, he is riding the wind, and kissing the grand rock edges.

I carried the bottle up the East Buttress of El Capitan. I spread ashes on ledges and from the summit.

So, over the past couple of weeks, Sam has gotten used to the bottle of ashes. He has listened to plenty of Dave stories.

In the parking area by Tenaya Lake, after we packed our gear, I turned from the car as I hoisted my pack on my back.

Sam nodded to the car roof behind me and said, “Don’t forget Dave.”

Something about Sam’s casual reminder was so endearing. He said Dave's name with ease and familiarity.

Even for someone who didn’t know him, Dave is impossible to forget.

Climbing high in the valley

On Monday, June 11, Sam and I reunited at the Oakland Airport. We cruised back to the Valley, but were too late to get a spot at Camp 4. We stored our food in a bear box along the road and slept near the base of El Cap.

I felt grateful and cozy starring up at the mammoth tree tops and silhouette of El Cap. Drifting to sleep under the starry sky was a warm welcome back to the Valley.

Tuesday morning, we woke early and took our place in line at the Camp 4 registration. We were happy to get a spot to camp, but disappointed to learn we could only stay for four nights. Each person is only allowed seven nights total stay at Camp 4 from May to September. Yikes!

We set up camp and scarfed a yummy egg, cheese, and sausage breakfast before heading to the Five Open Books crag.

Five Open Books is a wall just west of Yosemite Falls. The short walk into the crag gave us our first close-up view of the falls.

We were psyched to gain some elevation by climbing the three pitches of Commitment. I won the shoot and got to tackle the first pitch: a beautiful 5.8 splitter hand crack. My Yosemite crack climbing crash course is working!

Sam scooted up the second pitch: an aesthetic 5.7 corner.

The third pitch traversed under a huge roof and up to a 5.9 corner and final roof. It was fun and satisfying to top out on this 350' line.

Sam near the base of Commitment

Wednesday, we woke up feeling strong and confident from Tuesday's send. We decided to kick it up a notch and head to Middle Cathedral's East Buttress.

This route was Sam's idea and he was super psyched for the crux pitch. That morning, Sam announced that he was feeling slighted by my good luck winning rock-paper-scissor shoots and seemingly getting to lead all the best pitches of the trip so far.

So, we agreed he would lead the 5.10 crux pitch. (It's possible that my climbing partners back home will find this act of compromise hard to believe.)

To my delight, the hike in was only about half the distance as the hike to Upper Cathedral Spire. Sam wandered up the first 5.5 pitch and linked it with the second 5.8 pitch. The beginning pitches were chunky and route finding was a bit challenging. Between Sam, me, the guide book, and three boys from Georgia waiting to get on the route, we were able to navigate the start.

The third pitch followed an obvious crack and corner system. The 5.8 crux was right off the ledge and was followed by 70 feet of fun easier climbing. I linked the pitch with the fourth 5.8 pitch. It included a super fun continuous finger and hand crack in a corner. When I was just about out of rope, I landed on a comfy bolt anchor/belay ledge.

We enjoyed a sugar pea and cherry lunch on the ledge and were inspired to start a rock band called Peas and Cherries. We wrote our first single before Sam took off on pitch 5.
 

Ledge lunch with El Cap in the background

Pitch 5 was the crux pitch that Sam was itching to get on. He sailed up the 5.10 face and bulge, singing Peas and Cherries tunes all the way.

My next pitch started with a 5.6 runout face and traverse into another fun, chunky corner. I climbed until I ran out of rope and built an anchor.

The following five pitches continued with fun crack and corner climbing. I got the final 11th pitch and opted to kick it up a notch by taking the 5.10a face and 5.9 layback crack variation instead of the 5.7 chimney.

All the climbing was pleasant with great views of El Cap, Higher Cathedral, Higher Cathedral Spire, and the Sentinel.

View of Higher Cathedral Spire

Next ,we followed the guidebook directions and scrambled to the top of the rock to find a trail back down. The trail was windy and bushwacky in parts. It eventually led to an open "catwalk" before descending into a talus gully.

Sam on the catwalk

The guidebook sandbagged the decent. It was unexpectedly treacherous, long, and exhausting.  The love we had for the route waned as the heinous walk-off dragged on and on.

View from gully walk-off

By the time we were out of the woods, we were tired enough to forgo camp dinner and buy pizza at the Curry Village resort in the Valley. 

Thursday was a well-earned full-on rest day. We lounged by the lazy river. We considered hiking, but decided any uphill terrain would be just too much. As the day wore on, we got more and more psyched for our next adventure.

Friday we woke up early and set out for the the East Buttress of El Capitan! This route has 12 pitches and harder grades than Middle Cathedral's East Buttress. It was a defined step up from Wednesday's climb.


The day before, Sam was still refusing to rock-paper-scissor battle me and decided his luck may be stronger in a coin toss. We agreed the winner of the coin toss would lead the first pitch on El Cap. Amazingly, I won.

I wasn't feeling like a winner as I stood below the chimney start of the climb. It looked burly and awkward. My chimney skills are even weaker than my crack skills. So, on Friday, my Yosemite Crack Climbing Crash Course expanded. I was to become a chimney climber.

I did it and felt pretty good about it even though Sam said I sounded like I was giving birth to a whale as I wedged into and out of the most strenuous part of the chimney. Once out, I was rewarded by a super fun, steep 5.9 finger crack.

Sam led the cruxy second pitch, dancing up a 5.10 face and 5.9 groove. He did great and should have been pleased, so I was confused about the swearing and moaning I heard from above as I followed the pitch.

When I arrived on the ledge, Sam was red faced and scowling.

"Here! Take the gear! Go, go! We gotta get outta here!" he growled.

The sandy ledge was an anthill. The ants were waging war on Sam, covering his legs and sneaking under his clothes. They were too involved with the assault on Sam to notice me as I racked up for the next pitch.

I took off as quickly as I could. After the first 55' easy scramble pitch, I searched for the next pitch. The book described a 5.6 arete with pitons, but didn't see it. I was confused by the big wall and many features. I paced around the ledge looking for the best way up.

"You gotta climb! C'mon, I am dying down here!" Sam ordered when I asked for clarification about the route.

In the interest of saving my partner's life, I plowed forward onto what looked like the cleanest line. Turns out the path I choose was a 5.8 hand crack just right of the 5.6 arete I was supposed to be on. It took good gear and was safe, and I had Sam's life to consider, so I ignored the fact that it felt harder than 5.6.

After the crack, some fun face climbing led to a bolt anchor. This was the top of the pitch 3 and 4 link up. Pitch 5 was class 3 to easy class 5, so when I ran out of rope Sam started climbing too.

The simul-climbing allowed me to link 3 easy pitches. We were on our way!

We were psyched to be speeding up the route. But, we were gaining on the party of 5 Koreans in front of us.

The party was being led by a guide who was leading pitches and bringing up the four seemingly amateur climbers two at a time. Sometimes of the followers were climbing, but sometimes they were using ascenders and etriers to struggle up the pitches. The process was a four-rope, gear-juggling mess.

Sam made quick work of pitch 6 and happily announced that he could see booty in the crack just left of the pitch 6 line. He suggested I try to retrieve the booty since we were traffic jammed behind the party of five.

I swung/traversed the thirty feet to the alleged booty--what looked like a new purple .5 Camalot. Sadly, the new-looking purple sling was attached to a rusty fixed old .5 Camalot. No booty, but a fun time-using diversion.

We tried waiting patiently for the party to advance so I could start my next lead: a link-up of pitch 7 and 8. Patience isn't one of our strong suits. Sam managed to communicate through the language barrier and get a go-ahead from the party above for me to start leading and try to pass the 5 person crew.

The pressure to pass was too daunting for me, so I surrendered my lead to Sam.

He walked confidently through pitch 7's exposed 5.7 flake and crack system and into pitch 8's thin 5.8 cracks and corner. Pitch 8 was cluttered with ropes and novice, non-English speakers, but Sam pushed through to the belay ledge.

As I followed the pitches, I went from feeling super psyched to overwhelmed by the views and exposure. I was getting more and more tired and exhilarated the higher I went.

By the time I reached Sam at the hanging belay, I was muttering things like, "I am a Gunks climber. I am not a Yosemite climber," and "I want to start watching more TV."

At the ledge, Sam managed to calm me down and convince me to getting moving and continue our race to overtake the party above.

The easy 9th pitch lulled me back to a state of relaxation and enjoyment.

At the belay ledge I cozied up with the brightly outfitted tourists.

Sam set off into the mess of ropes and climbers to lead the "mental crux" pitch 10. The pitch included a wild traverse to a steep, wickedly exposed face.

Sam loved the climbing. His big smile shined bright through a blue sky frame. This would have made an awesome photo. Sadly, the camera I carried had dead batteries. The picture below is of a stranger from the internets. 




I linked the last two easier pitches and finally manged to pass the leader of the party in front. I was languid and wandering, enjoying the scenery until a boom of far away thunder gave me a rocket boost. Afternoon storm clouds lurked in the distance.

At the top out, Sam and I enjoyed turkey jerky and chocolate before starting the descent. The climber's trail was easy to find. It wandered down some class 3 and 4 scrambles and switchback trail for a while.

When the terrain became too steep to safely down climb, we were delighted to find fixed ropes to rappel. Three near-60-meter raps led to a casual trail the rest of the way down. We were grateful that we were safely close to the road when it started to rain.

The day was perfect. The route was awesome and the descent was pleasant.

Thank you, Yosemite!

Photos from Central Pillar of Frenzy

Here's a link to some pictures from June 3. Sam is belaying me on the second pitch of Central Pillar of Frenzy.
Amelia leads Pitch 2 of Central Pillar of Frenzy

Desert Days with Doctor Slow

After five days of climbing, it was time for a rest. Sam went to San Francisco and I went to the hot, dry desert of Tucson. Jeremy kindly hosted me for four nights of fun, food, and relaxation.

I was reminded that there is more to life than climbing. There is also Ms. Pac Man.

Rain and Choss

Monday morning, we hoped to find an open spot at Camp 4, the first-come-first-served campground in the valley. We arrived under grey skies and stood in line for two hours

After securing a campsite, we headed off to climb before the inevitable rain fell.

We selected the New Diversions cliff for its proximity to the road and supply of single pitch mixed or bolted climbs. Sam won the shoot and picked his first lead. I was not envious of his selection: Chicken Pie—a trad 5.9 fist crack in an imposing awkward-looking corner.

Sam enjoyed the pitch, and I—despite my prejudices against big cracks and awkward features—had a great time following the route.

I was up next and picked New Deviations because it had a bolted face with “wild free climbing moves more typical of the gym than Yosemite.” I roped up and faced the big offwidth flake start.

I whined to Sam, “This is out of my comfort zone,” as I placed the numbers 3.5 and 4 cams and grunted up the first twenty feet of 5.9. I was learnin’!

The face above was odd, with golf ball to basketball sized knobs and a bit of run out. The pitch was over 150 feet high and super rad.

Back on the ground, we debated whether to start another lead or top rope the 5.12 the rap rope was hanging on. Before we made a decision, the rain came.

Forced into tourism and commerce, we walked in the rain to Bridalveil Falls and went to the Yosemite Village store to buy food and a rain tarp before returning to camp.

Tuesday we got a late start to give the soaked rock some time to dry. 

We walked into the Five and Dime wall, but were turned off by the rampant poison oak, crowd, and short routes. We opted for Pat and Jack’s wall instead.

Sam won the shoot and picked Knob Job (5.10b) for his first lead. The pitch was long and fun. I passed on the 5.10d second pitch (“scary, run-out, much harder if you are under 6’”) and sent a short but sweet (and safe) 5.8 instead.

On the ground, some other climbers suggested we looked strong enough to give Sherry’s Crack (10c) a try. I worked up the first twenty-five feet of continuous burly hand crack. After a few falls and takes and a lot of frustration over the slippery feet and too-big-to-finger-jam crack, I lowered to let Sam have a go.

Sam suffered an even more frustration than I did, but eventually finished the pitch. I fell following and Sam fell toproping it. It was hard. Our Yosemite initiation was still underway.

We finished the day on a picky, hard bolted face climb called Skinheads (5.10d). We both got it done with some serious determination. Back at camp, we were ready for beer.

We got an early start on Wednesday and set out to climb Higher Cathedral Spire. The 5.9 Regular Route gets four stars in the guide book and comes with a history. The first ascent was done in 1934 before modern rock shoes, harnesses, or protection.

The spire is the tallest freestanding pinnacle in North America. We were psyched.

After the almost two-hour uphill approach, I won the shoot and opted to lead the first 5.5 pitch so I would be lined up to lead the glorious sounding finger crack and exposed hand traverse final pitch.

The first pitch was a breeze except for the unnerving toaster-sized loose blocks wedged precariously in the sandy ledge at the belay ledge.

Sam started into the second pitch and suggested it felt hard for 5.9. I reminded him that, at the time of the first ascent, there was no such thing as the harder 5.10 grade. In this case, 5.9 just meant the hardest grade in existence.

The ledge I belayed from was shady. I got cold, and by the time I followed the second pitch my fingers and toes were numb. Any of my regular climbing partners can painfully imagine what happened next. I groaned and sniffled my way up the rock.

I moaned every time my hands or feet contacted the rock, muttering: “Ooohhhh, I have the screaming barfies! Ooowww owww owww oww,” then “Oooohhhh Gooodddd. This hurts! This sucks” then back to “Ooowww, oooowww, scraming barfies,” and so on. 

Needless to say, I fell at the crux and proclaimed the route a complete sandbag.

I was warmed up by the time I started the third pitch, but I had no idea where the route went. I wandered around until I found an old piton and was confident I was on the “wild, deformed” rock the book described.

I fell from the airy bulge at the pitch’s crux. The foot placements were sandy and the featured rock was crumbly. After some complaining, I finished the pitch.

As Sam started up the fourth pitch, he said, “Let’s get this over with.” The rock was dirty and loose, the route was wandering, and—unless in a rare patch of sunshine—we were cold.

The fourth pitch, like the second and third, was rated 5.9 but felt much easier. The views of the valley below started to get more impressive.

The fifth pitch was good. Sam and I both enjoyed it despite the fact that we had decided to hate the route. The hand crack was hard but fun and the final traverse and top-out was exposed and pleasant.

On top of the spire, there was nothing left to do but take a nap.

I came here to rock climb!

Saturday, June 2, I woke up into a dream-come-true: river rushing by, blue sky framed by magnificent and climbable cliffs, and fresh brewed coffee. Evelyn served me breakfast and we started our lazy Saturday.

I met more of the trail crew and heard entertaining fishing and climbing stories all morning.

In the afternoon, Evelyn, Steve and I drove to a swimming hole just outside of the park. The 55 degree water was a perfect complement to the 90+ degree heat and blazing sun. We lounged riverside until talk of fire-charred cheese, salsa, and avocado topped burgers led us back to camp.

The hot sun had us working in slow motion. Around 5:00, before we could start the fire for dinner, Sam arrived. He had the same wide-eyed glaze I had the previous day and couldn't wait to climb the magnificent rock surrounding us.

I was in a lazy day mood and hungry for dinner, so I resisted Sam's urging to go climbing for a good fifteen minutes.

Back at home, Rock and Snow Rich told me to try Reed's Pinnacle Direct as a good introduction to Yosemite crack climbing. That route was just a few miles away from the trail crew cabins and had a roadside, quick approach.

By 6:00, we were loaded into the rental car and on the way to Reed's Pinnacle. The crag was easy to find, the prominent crack visible from the roadside.

I won the rock-paper-scissor shoot and started up the first 5.8 pitch. After about twenty feet, it was obvious that the pitch I was on was harder than 5.8. The crack was finger-small instead of the guidebook described hand-jam-big.

After looking in the book, Sam advised me to down climb the 5.10 I was on and move over to the route we planned to climb. I did as Sam suggested and began my second start, this time on the correct route.

After about twenty feet, it was obvious that the pitch I was on was harder than I could comfortably lead. The excuses I used included: jet lag, hangover, laziness, too much swimming, improper diet, wrong pants, and the transit of Venus.

"ER Nick told me you didn't like crack climbing," Sam mused.

"Oh yeah, I hate crack climbing. I can't do it," I reported matter-of-factly.

"You know that Yosemite is all crack climbing, right?" Sam timidly inquired.

"Oh yeah, I know. I bet we can find a face climb or two though, right? Tuolumne Meadows is all slab, right?"

Sam lowered me to the ground and took over the lead.

I knew I was going to have to learn to climb cracks. It didn't feel good at that moment, but I knew about time and practice and I was ready to rope up for my Yosemite Crash Course in Crack Climbing.

Sam cruised up the stout hand jam. I followed the route in typical first-day-at-a-new-crag style: falling, whining, pulling on gear, and—BONUS—dropping the camera.

Sam gracefully continued up the 5.10 second pitch. I followed with much less whining and was rewarded by the awesome setting-sun-over-valley sky.

We rappelled to the ground at dusk and completed our first-day-dues-paying by getting the rope stuck. Fortunately, there was an easy scramble to the ledge where the rope end was lodged and fortunately one of us had remembered to pack a headlamp. So, rope retrieval was easy enough.

Once on the ground, all I could think about was the burgers Steve and Evelyn had planned to make for dinner that night. I was hungry when Sam showed up at five; I was ravenous after the climb. I couldn't help but wonder if the one evening climb was worth missing those sure-to-be glorious burgers.

Back at camp, my first question was, "How was dinner?" I was longing for some left-over burger scraps.

"Oh, we didn't even start cooking yet. We napped when you went climbing."

Oh joy! We would get burgers after all! And Sam had brought bacon! My first full day in Yosemite was a success.

Sunday morning, Sam and I set off for Yosemite Valley. The views and scenery got more impressive the deeper we ventured. We parked along the road and followed the path to Middle Cathedral. The approach was short, but the sun was hot.

We easily found our targeted route, Central Pillar of Frenzy. We were relieved to find two parties already on the route. We were forced to wait to start climbing and would be saved from the day's peak heat. The sun was cooking the rock wall.

We sat below a scraggly shrub and enjoyed the bit of shade it provided. We decided to practice our patience and let the party in front of us to get well into the second pitch before we started. The longer we waited, the less oppressive the sun and heat were.

Instead of the traditional rock-paper-scissor battle for first lead, Sam and I had time to discuss who would be better suited to lead each of the five pitches. The first pitch description included the words “flare/chimney”, “jam”, and “strenuous”. The third pitch description included the words “offwidth”, “large cams”, and “roof”. For me, these words were not synonymous with success.

Sam was happy to take the pitches I was afraid of and generously left me with the delightful sounding second pitch (“clean”, “fingers”, “direct”).

Sam cruised up the first 5.9 pitch, jamming a wide crack in the slippery corner. At the top of the first 100+ foot pitch, we had a great view of El Capitan. The sun showed mercy by moving around the side of the Middle Cathedral rock. I had the feeling of being in the exact right place at the exact right time.

The second 5.9 pitch climbed a clean finger-to-hand size crack that ran straight up the steep face. I felt solid and safe leading the classic crack. I savored the moves and views and proclaimed my love for Yosemite.

Sam rocked on the third 5.9 pitch’s wide cracked and roof. I had fun following and practicing fist jams. The views improved with each belay spot and we identified tiny specs on the adjacent El Cap wall as climbers.

It was my lucky day: my fourth pitch lead offered clean, fun 5.8 twin cracks. Sam wandered over chunky, featured cracks and corners for the fifth 5.8 pitch. The whole route was super sweet!

On the ground, we ate our late lunch before deciding we wanted to climb more. I was next in line to lead and opted to try Pee Pee Pinnacle. This 5.10a route offered clean finger crack climbing to the top of a 100-foot pinnacle.

We were completely satisfied to flash six amazing pitches on our second day in Yosemite.

Rushing river, fire pit, whiskey welcome

I flew into Oakland airport on June first. I was bound for Yosemite on a Friday afternoon in the busiest month the park sees. Except the first-come-first-served walk-in Camp 4, all campsites and hotels were booked for months prior. Fortunately, Katie's sister Evelyn was on the Yosemite trail crew and had welcomed me to crash with her for a night or two.

I drove my rental car across the Central Valley in 100+ degree heat and followed the 120 highway until it became a windy, narrow road through the mountains. The views became more and more spectacular as I went.

I made it inside the park in the evening and followed Evelyn's directions to the trail crew cabins. I pushed through the tall wooden fence door marked "Private Residence" as inconspicuously as possible and followed the path between two cabins back towards the river to find four new friends sitting around a picnic table in the sun.

The picturesque setting had me smiling so wide I could barely squeeze out an introduction.

"You must be here to see Evelyn," the woman at the table said, "She's inside cooking."

One of the guys offered up the bottle of whiskey that was being passed around.

"Welcome," he said as I took an initiation swig.

Adorable, tattooed Evelyn came bouncing out of the cabin to greet me.

She introduced me to the trail crew: Billy, Charlie, and Steve, and Charlie's girlfriend Holly who worked on a near-by ranch. I went to my car to grab the load of groceries I bought in Oakland to I could offer snacks to go with the trail crew's beer.

Evelyn shared her home cooked Indian dinner with me and I settled in with the hard-working, dirty crew. I was right at home!

We spent the evening in the trail crew's backyard. The river rushed by hypnotically and the night sky opened to infinite stars poking through vibrant indigo. We sat around the fire and I listened to the crew's stories of living in the back country for weeks at a time. Tales of life with no running water or contact with the outside world started me fantasizing about my own Yosemite adventures-to-come.

I fell asleep fireside, looking at the California stars, and listening to Holly and Evelyn play guitar and sing Gillian Welch's Look at Miss Ohio.

Thank you Yosemite, thank you Evelyn and crew for the warm welcome. I feel grateful and content in this magic place.