Part III

There’s something about waking up in Yosemite Valley. Before you open your eyes, your skin is greeted by the cool, crisp air of the Sierras. You inhale a deep breath of the piquant pine forest and have a little stretch. Then you open your eyes to towering granite, and if you’re lucky to sleep long enough, the orange glow of the sunrise on Half Dome. It’s the kind of place you take your time to wake up. You enjoy every unfolding moment as much as each pitch you’ll do that day.

As climbers, especially the celebrated bums, it’s easy to get cynical about the Valley. You’re dodging the efforts of the rangers trying to enforce seemingly superfluous laws while you ignore annoying and obtrusive tourists. This was one of the thoughts that kept recurring to me that week. Fortunately for me, I had trouble finding much merit to that point of view. I was only there a short time, and I’m sure to some of the “true” Yosemite climbers, I was only slightly less invasive than the guy in the RV two sites down that said “Rent Me” on the side of it. But as I said before, this week is freedom. In this case, it was freedom from any critical notions that would keep me from enjoying such a beautiful place. In the end, that’s not an earth-shattering concept, ignorance being bliss that is, but it’s always the simple ones that are most effective for me.

On Monday morning we saw our friend, Bruce, off with hopes to see him again in five days. With that, two strong, Rusty and I geared up for something a little more committing. Despite the threat of bad weather, we made the arduous journey to Higher Cathedral Rock. The one-hour stair master, as our friend Rick once referred to it, took us to the base of our climb, the Northeast Buttress. At 5.9 and 11 pitches, it certainly wasn’t the most demanding climb of the trip, but memorable pitches and the promise of panoramic views of El Cap and beyond were enough to peak my desire. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had something else to say about that. After the second pitch, drizzles and lurking clouds sent us rappelling.

By the time we made it to the base, the weather had cleared and blue skies were all around. Well, we’re not going back up there, but Higher Cathedral Spire is right around the rim. It also has the convenient advantage of being less committing, in case the storm clouds decide to rear their ugly heads. Off we go. I have to say the Regular Route is just all around fun. First climbed in 1934, it features wayward climbing comprised of pitches that felt more like granite sport climbs than trad pitches. Although well hidden from the Valley for nearly the entire climb, the view from the top was spectacular. My only regrets were that I did not have a camera and I wasn’t shivering from the icy wind that had kicked up and the intermittent spats of rain. By the time we made it to the base, we were in a steady shower. This lasted through the hike to the car and much of the afternoon.

With the rain persisting, Rusty and I were forced, in the end gladly, into a casual afternoon. Tours through the museum, visitor center, and Ansel Adams gallery caught me up to speed on the history of Yosemite Valley. There’s plenty of interesting information to share, but in the end, it’s far out of the scope of this entry, so I’ll end our day here other than to say that we were greeted by the smiling, scruffy face of our very own Eli Powell when we returned to camp.

A warm meal and stories from his ongoing road trip filled the evening. We settled down for the night with the hopes of better weather and more climbing the next day.

I firmly believe that it is the unalienable right for veteran climbers to sandbag us youths. I suspect that it is an attempt to drive home the proverb that “youth is wasted on the young.” I know there are some, you know who you are, that completely agree with me. For those of you who don’t agree, I offer this anecdote.

Day four sent us to Arch Rock, three-strong again. This time it was with our newly arrived comrade, Eli. Again, chasing the morning sun, we saddled up to Midterm. Rated at 5.10b, this is a classic Yosemite sandbag. Over the years, the many attempts have made the surface of the barely-there finger crack and the narrow dihedral that forms it resemble Teflon more than granite. It gradually widens to hands, fists, off-width, finally to a squeeze chimney. “Eli,” chimes in Rusty. “This is your first day here; this would be a great way to warm up to granite crack. I mean it has a little bit of everything.”

Being assured by our patriarch that the off-width was “trivial” and the 50’ of squeeze chimney, although unprotectable, was nearly impossible to fall out of, Eli grabbed the rack a started jamming. Up to the last little bit about off-width and a squeeze chimney, it would have been a great lead. Past that point, let’s just say, I’m glad it was Eli’s turn on the sharp end. I had a helluva lot of fun following. With that said sincere kudos to Eli, who dueled with the crack and won – in great style I might add.

Our other climb at Arch, although not as memorable, was not without its excitement. Let’s just say a mishap on the part of yours truly ended up with a knot stuck in the anchors and a subsequent lesson in properly ascending a rope to remedy the situation.

By day five, I have developed a love/hate relationship with the morning. I hate that I have to leave the warmth of my bag and plunge into the chilly, damp air. I love the promise of new adventures. I hate trying to move because of the increasingly noticeable stiffness. I love the freedom of movement in this inspiring climbing arena.

With that in mind, an overdue day of casual climbing ensued. A couple of routes at Church Bowl proved to be the perfect complement to our day-five listlessness. This included a dreamy 5.10 finger crack that was a comforting contrast to the unprotected climbs of days past. The morning gave way into meeting Kris at Curry Village.

Kris, after traveling from the Bay Area to Yosemite via a bus that left at 2 AM, was ready to get his hands back on some granite. We were happy to oblige, although not ready to challenge. That would be for tomorrow. A romp up the Nutcracker filled the afternoon. This gave way to a raucous welcoming to the campsite.


We pulled into campsite to what apparently was one of those aforementioned obtrusive tourists who felt entitled enough to park their flamboyantly red Hummer in our site. Now let me say that I would like to think that if it had been any other car, that is one that doesn’t carry the arrogant stigma of a Hummer, I would have been a little more forgiving. But the sight of overcompensation propped up on four wheels was just too much for my sensibilities. Who the hell does this guy think he is?

In the interest of good will, Rusty queries the neighbors about the vehicle, while Kris, Eli, and I survey the scene. We walk into the campsite to curiously find three pairs of brand new 5-10 Galileos on the picnic bench. Now the gears in our heads really come to a halt. And then I turn to see an inconspicuous 5-10 sticker pasted to the back of that big red monstrosity. Ding!

“Hey Rusty!” I yell across the campsite. “When is Charles supposed to show up?”

“Charles Cole?” Eli interjects.

“Yeah, Charles Cole.” I affirm.

It turns out that he and Rusty are chums from the old days. I won’t say we were completely okay with the Hummer situation after that. I mean, come on. The owner of 5-10 drives a Hummer? Seriously? However, we were certainly more welcoming when we were enlightened of the situation.

We spend the night listening to stories of the old days of Yosemite. Names that are only familiar to us from climbing magazines are tossed between Rusty and Charles. Eli joins in the conversation, probing the two for insight into the old world. Kris and I break off to have our own discussion. It starts with training theory, but soon veers to motivation for climbing. It was a refreshing conversation. I don’t get to spend as much time with Kris, Eli, and Andrew (who is soon to join) as I would like. It’s such a pleasure to spend meaningful time with them and completes my experience this week.