At the persuasive, perhaps overbearing, suggestion of our commander in chief, Mr. Reno, I reserved the campsites in Upper Pines sometime in June of this year. Now here’s the funny part. I waited until about three weeks before the trip to request the vacation. This is partly because I’m just an old-fashioned, yellow-bellied chicken and was irrationally afraid of getting a black mark on my record. More so, I couldn’t shake the guilt or sense of gluttony I had felt for being away from “real life” and all its obligations for so long.
The great part about that feeling is how quickly it fled. Like rats from a sinking ship, any shame I felt from gorging myself of my longest climbing trip to date, was ousted at the sight of the sunrise dancing through Yosemite Falls. The only thing I could think was, “Next Sunday is going to come way you soon and its going to be hard to leave.”
The warm morning sun of the lower valley radiating off Cookie was just what the doctor ordered. While I had managed to get a properly secluded campsite, one mostly free of bears and loud tourists that is, I had also managed to secure one of the coldest ones. Needless to say, that first morning was a rude awakening and we were quick to get up and moving.
An added bonus to climbing with Rusty, and now his friend Bruce, is the tapping into their knowledge of the Valley. Not one climb I did that week was disappointing. The two of them were walking Frommer’s guides to climbing in Yosemite. That knowledge led us to the Direct North Buttress of Middle Cathedral Rock in the afternoon. There, I was introduced to the “R” rating in Yosemite, a hair-raising, but strangely rewarding experience – particularly, my lead of the third pitch involving a runout on an old piton around a blind corner that led to an unprotected mantle. Fortunately, that all ended in a shiny new bolt at my face. Man was that a relief. I selfishly handed the next pitch to Rusty, which he lead with the swagger and confidence of the Valley Vet that he is. Damn good thing to, because compared to this pitch, involving long, runout, and technical traversing, my little episode below was child’s play.
“What shall we do tomorrow gentlemen?” Rusty asks as we’re coiling the rope. That guy, he’s such a planner. Bruce and I busy are soaking in the day and he’s already preparing for the next. “I know, East Buttress of El Cap.” And so it is.
We wake that morning at 5:00, fearing that on a Sunday a dozen other parties have the same intentions we do. A quick repeat of coffee and sugar, as done yesterday, sees us off to the parking lot at El Cap Meadows. Uh, oh. There’s a party with packs on walking by us as we get out of the car, donuts in hand. No bother. We are fast hikers and at worst there’s plenty of room to pass after the 2nd pitch.
By the glow of headlamp we start the hike, traversing the base of El Cap. Being in the company of two gentlemen who have spent many days on the side of the formation, I get a mini impromptu tour of the east face. Rusty – “Here, you see that burnt spot on the side of the cliff where someone has obviously built a fire? I would spent about a month at a time camped there, trying to avoid the rangers.” Bruce – “Oh here’s the base of Magic Mushroom. Looks like there’s someone just getting started. Rusty you remember when we did that route? 1981, I think it was.”
We warm up just in time to pull into that last talus field before ducking back into the trees at the base of the climb. Well, heck. There’s the party that walked by us as we were getting out of the car. Or wait is that a different party? Great, now we have two parties ahead of us. As we approach, we realize that we grossly underestimated the motivation of at least 12 other people. That’s right. We arrived to see six parties in line to do the route. A quick conversation with an amiable German climbing guide just coming back from doing his business proved to be the only reward for the hour hike. No bother, back to the car boys, time for another cup of coffee.
A quick caffeinated recharge put us at the base of Glacier Point Apron. “Chris, this is going to be an educational and exciting (read terrifying) day for you.” Rusty informs me with that devious little smile he so proudly wears. –Nicole you should skip to the next paragraph- We promptly rack up, put on our shoes and harnesses, and proceed to do the first 300’ of the climb, going at 5.1, ropeless. I know it’s only 5.1, but somewhere around 150’, it becomes enough to get your attention. In fact, I have to stop typing for a minute and wipe the sweat off the keyboard…
Ok, I’m back. Ah, friction climbing. We proceed with the same drill as yesterday. Rusty, being the bravest, takes the scary runout traversing pitches, and I take the scary, runout, technically difficult pitches. However, after a few hundred feet of spending most of your time on the tips of you big toe and your fingernails (literally) and about 30’ from the last bolt, you start to get acclimated. “It’s good for you.” Rusty assures me. “It gets you comfortable above your gear, so when you need to run it out, you can.” I hate to say it but he was right.
Well its Bruce’s last day, until his return on Friday, so we end early and enjoy some beers on the porch of the Yosemite grocery store. It was really a perfect way to end the weekend. Great climbing, welcomed relaxation, and whoa, free pizza from the guy two tables over. Thanks bud. We talk of the weekend’s events and the elders quickly reminisce of the old days. I’m, of course, not included in the conversation anymore than a bystander, but I don’t mind. It’s fun to listen. A few more beers loosen us up enough to start talking about girls and I get some seasoned relationship advice. Alright enough of that, time for some actual dinner, in the form of solid food. “What are we doing tomorrow?” Rusty inquires.
I feel like I'm back there! Thanks for the well written piece Chris. Looking forward to your take on the rest of the week.
I'm so kicking myself right now for passing up this trip.
And a girl… Valley Boys and a girl… even though I was not there long