Lepton

Two things accelerated my improvement. The first was having the opportunity to watch a good climber lead a hard route early in my career. What impressed me most was the tenacity that climber displayed, resting in a dubious position and working out the crux well above protection for over 30 minutes. The second thing that really helped me understand that I could do harder climbs was to change my boulder training from doing laps on routes I had wired, to really concentrating my sessions on working on a problem until I could do it. As I increased the difficulty of boulder problems I worked on I was soon able to include harder problems in my warm ups, and expand my repetoire of moves.

It's commonly accepted that these are the standard techniques for succeeding on climbs at or above one's limit, so it's understood that if someone says they climbed something "hard" (for them--be it 5.6 or 5.14), the assumption is that they had to work at it first. Otherwise, the ascensionist probably onsighted or flashed the route, and would no doubt say so. Your stupidly rigid standards for success on a hard climb would invalidate at least 99% of all standard-setting climbs of the last 20 years (30 years? 50 years?), and reflects a probable lack of experience on your part attempting and climbing hard routes. Working a route on TR or via relentless dogging, french-freeing, or rappel inspection has got nothing to do with using a step-ladder to drop a ball through a hoop. I think you have a valid point, that climbs on the cutting edge most often do require repeated attempts, falls, failures, etc. etc. It is all part of the process of learning your limitations and possibilities. Climbs accomplished on lead, from bottom to top, are still the standard of excellence I think that we all aspire to, don't you think? I believe the original post was more in reference to the question of what is defined as having "accomplished" a climb. Do you consider the "bastard knocked off" if you took a hangdog rest or two, or top roped it? I would think you would want to be proud of what you have accomplished, but also note you left room for improvement. If a climber reports to the community that he or she has "accomplished" a climb, in today's climbing scene what does that really mean? Let's suppose that there is a longstanding problem that many are trying over time and one person resorts to using any and all means to "do" the climb, announces it, names the route and claims the glory, without actually having climbed the whole thing from bottom to top in one go. Is that really a valid first ascent? Or suppose that someone comes along and top ropes the climb, would that be worthy of laying claim to being the first ascent and naming the route? I think that is the fundamental question, and the reason why climbers in today's "state of the sport" want to know the particulars of how a climb is done. P.S. Regarding my lack of experience, you may want to read the threads regarding the bolting of Dan's Dreadful Direct or my ode to Russell Machine and get back to me.

Well, I suppose if you get a step ladder and dunk a basketball then you can say that you are just as good as Michael Jordan in his prime.... ... hangdogging, toproping, aid grabs, rehearsing...that's all climbing with training wheels. Not to say that it is bad, but if you want to say you climbed something hard, then be honest with yourself and others regarding your accomplishments. Reminds of waiting at the base of Iron Horse while an aid climbing duo finished their wack at it, only to hear one of them exclaim excitedly, "We just did a 5.12!".....huh? Ja, just do it.

Until about a week ago there was a Dutch based web site that had posted a series of photographs taken from one of the mountainside bungalows overlooking that narrow strip of beach land with all the hotel and shop development. The first photo showed the tranquil bay in the foreground of the previous post. The second and third photos showed the water being sucked out of the bay. The next photo is struck me with awe. It showed the wave breaking across the first line of palm trees on the near shore, approaching the first buildings. That image showed what I remember as a three layered wave that wasn't really breaking toward the land, but seemed to have a "reverse wave" about 50 yards behind the tallest landward wave, and that "reverse wave" was breaking in the direction away from shore. The reverse wave was about 1/4 the total height of the first wall of water hitting the shore. The water behind the wave was extremely turbulent. From that photo I would have to think that the total height of the initial wave was well over 30 feet, and I would not argue with a 45 foot wave. The next photo shows the wave nearly finishing its push across the entire width of that strip of land, then the last photo shows water draining into both bays. I don't recall any photos showing the 2nd or 3rd major tsunami's (there were a total of three). My friend reported that the water in the sea remained turbulent for hours after the tsunami's. One person my friend met helping in the triage they had set up in the local school yard had reportedly was body surfing before the tsunami hit, out in deeper water. He said that was swimming in deeper water when the initial "sucking" out of the water happened before the first tsunami came, and he was pull out about 1/2 to 1 mile from shore, right into the teeth of the tsunami. However, when he was sucked into the tsunami it was in water deep enough that it wasn't breaking. He had no choice but to swim hard in front of it and start riding the wave from a long distance to the shore. The wave carried him on a high speed ride to shore, and to him it seemed to accelerate as it approach shore as the wave was funneled between the mountains. He had no choice but to ride the wave from side to side and ride it THROUGH the streets, between hotels and palm trees, and entirely across the island, finishing his ride out to sea on the other side of the island. He was unharmed.

I can't help but think about the amazing impact of the tsunami that hit the Indian Ocean last December. During the recent OR show I heard a few tales of survival that were pretty amazing. On Phi Phi Island I understand there were climbers on the beach when the waves hit. Some survived by clipping into the rock to prevent themselves from being washed out to sea. I spoke with a gentleman who was vacationing on Phi Phi with his wife and two teenage sons. They awoke late that morning after getting to bed late from a Christmas Day party the night before. His wife decided to go snorkeling at the beach while he and his sons got themselves ready to go down and meet her for breakfast at a sea side restaurant. Phi Phi island is small, with two rocky mountains joined by a narrow strip of beach that is about 200 yards wide and 800 to 1200 yards from mountain to mountain. They were staying in a bungalow on one of the mountains. As he was getting dressed he heard a tremendous roar and went out on the veranda with his sons, and was stunned to witness the tsunami rush in and completely over the strip of beach land that houses most of the development on Phi Phi. He watched hundreds of people dying. Then he realized his wife was down there snorkeling! He ran out and down the steps leading to the beach. There was only one person coming up the steps, and it was his wife. Her story of survival is amazing. She was snorkeling in hip deep water close to shore as she waited for her husband and sons. All of a sudden she was being pulled out to sea at a rapid pace, so she struggled to get to her feet. By the time she stood up she was in ankle deep water about 250 yards from shore. She turned around to see the wave on the horizon, realized what it was, and started running to shore, hoping to make it to the steps going up the mountain side. As she ran she was shouting at the other people on the beach to get out of there. Nobody else was running to safety. They were either standing and watching the incoming wave, or they were actually running after the receding water! By the time she got to dry sand she turned around and realized she didn't have time to make it the extra 150 yards to the steps leading up the mountain. She grabbed a beach towel and ran to the nearest palm tree and with seconds to spare tied herself to the tree with the beach towel and took a deep breath just as the wave hit. The water was so full of coral and sand that her skin was raw and bleeding afterward. She thought she was going to run out of breath and die, so she desparately shimmied up the tree with the beach towel still wrapped around her until her head popped above water. As soon as the water was low enough for her feet to touch ground again she untied from the tree and waded across to the steps, just before the second wave hit. Shortly after that her husband found her. She was the only survivor from that beach. They spent the next two days doing triage and recovering bodies, and were evacuated to Phuket and then to Bangkok. It amazes me that she had the presence of mind to think of using a beach towel for survival.

Sometimes in moments of great stress there is a phenomenon that has been referred to as "psycho babble", a torrent of verbage that can erupt from a person in unexpected ways. Climbing often has moments of stress, and twice I have encountered psycho babble when I was belaying. The first incident happened on the Glacier Point Apron in Yosemite. John W (real names are withheld to protect the innocent) and I were working on a mid 5.11 face climb that had a crux that was a tad run out and invited a 25 foot pendulum fall if you failed. I had had a go at it and sportingly logged some air time. I needed a rest so I gave the sharp end of the rope to John. He proceeded quickly to get to the crux and tried several maneuvers to step up onto the sloping little hold that was about shoulder height. Mantling it was no good, as my experience had shown. He eventually committed himself to stemming maneuver that allowed him to get his left foot up onto the hold, pushing off a small dihedral with his right hand. But as he pushed off to move over onto the ledge his right toe popped off a little nubbie and he was suddenly suspended horizontal to the ground, left foot on the slippery hold and right hand pushing on the dihedral, with his right foot flailing away in a comical manner. It just so happened that as he was in his horizontal position his eyes were focused...no...WIRED directly at my eyes as I held the belay rope ready to take up slack for his unavoidable fall. Then it happened. It began with an eiree high pitched whine. At first I thought some strange cricket was sounding off from a crack in the rocks up there somewhere. Then I realized the whine was coming from John. There he was, flailing away and whining like a hurt rabbit. Then he said, "Help!" moments before his flailing dislodged his left foot and he came zipping through the pendulum fall in an ackward position. I caught his fall and lowered him to the ground. "What was that?", I asked. "What do you mean?", he said. "That high pitched whining and you asking for help". "What are you talking about?" He never knew that he was making any sounds or had said anything. He still doesn't believe it to this day. The second time I encountered psycho babble was belaying George (again a fictitious name) on a 5.9 crack climb just uphill from Camp IV in Yosemite. It was his first attempt at a 5.9 and there were a few of us there to watch and give him support. When George reached the crux it required that he move from a secure hand crack into an offwidth bulge. George was a BIG man with limited flexibility and the move was very ackward for him. He placed protection above his head, then committed to the move. Then he got stuck. And then out poured the most amazing verbal tossed salad at a very high rate of speed and volume... "...FOOT! WHERE'S THE ... OH GOD! HELP! COME ON! HAND! GRAB IT! WHY WHY WHY! OH MY! FOOT! GET IT! HAND! WHAT THE!? ..." This went on for at least a full minute. During this time the small group of us witnessing the phenomenon were looking at each other, trying to hide our laughter. Finally George got into the squeeze chimney, wheezing, "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God". When he lowered to the ground one of his friends asked about what he was talking about up there. George never knew he had said a word, and denied it up to his early demise (RIP). Perhaps these moments merely represent the inner voice of fear that gets an outlet to reality beyond our conscious control. I find them fascinating and still think about those moments when life gets challenging. Sounding off in this manner in a business meeting may be a tad off the mark, though.

Maybe I'm from another era, but doesn't "sport route" mean there should be some "sport"? I don't go hunting by tying the bunny to the ground spread eagle and firing away point blank, so why would I expect the first ascentionist of a route to provide hand rails and and a hoist? Folks, this is rock climbing. It is SUPPOSED to have an element of fear. If you need to get in some safe laps up the rock, then stay in the gym. If you want to challenge yourself to take on not only the difficulty of the rock but the added difficulty of controlling your fear, then get out on the crag and do these bold albiet safe routes. I have a nice used set of golf clubs for anyone that isn't up to the challenge...

P.S. Marc, if you read this, I'll take $500 to destroy that photo of you.

I know Marc Twight. Marc Twight is a friend of mine, and you're no Marc Twight. (honorable mention to Lloyd Bentsen)

The correct way to tell the Koreans to hurry up would be "Balleewa!"

Paco, I am duly impressed. This climb is beautiful and from the pictures and your description I think it should become a late Fall or early Winter classic. Do you think that in mid-Winter there will be too much snow?

Sounds like a perfect day to me. Free climb the wall, romp up to the top for steak and beer, ride the gondola down to the parking lot with a bevy of beautiful admirers. No painful slogging through the woods. Will they have drink trays for summiting climbers?

First of all, has anyone seen the proposed site and plan for development? If so, is it accessible from the web for review? IMHO if you are going to oppose this development only based on general principles that you are opposed to development of any kind near a park, then your position is weak. Personally, I am curious exactly where the development is proposed and what plans they have for the development. I have absolutely no problem with a resort in the vicinity of RNP as long as it does not impact sensitive drainages or create an ugly presence in hiking, camping, or fishing areas. If the resort is placed in such a way that it interferes with existing use of the land, or if there is environmental impact for salmon streams or other wildlife habitats, then there is a sound reason for either directly opposing the development or requesting a modification of the development to mitigate the damage. I think the climbing community would do a great disservice to itself to oppose this development without first doing due diligence with research about the development and have sound reasons for opposition. So, have any of you done research? Please share it with us.

Ah, all you young wippersnappers. We old timers would just cut a notch in the middle of the rope, the white core showing through the sheath looked real pretty.

Terminal Gravity, I really enjoyed your post with your story buying Friends from Jardine. I have another, although not necessarily a whipper tale, an interesting perspective regarding Friends. On May 17, 1980 I summited the Nose of El Cap in a driving snowstorm. We got back to Curry, ate steaks, got drunk, then blitzed sleep until late the next morning. I remember laying on my back in the late morning, watching the patterns of shadows and sunlight on the walls of my tent, when suddenly somebody apparently hit the vibrator setting on the bed. After a moments confusion I realized we were having an earthquake. I decided just lay there and enjoy the ride, flat on my back, since there really wasn't any danger of the pine trees falling over or anything. There where whoops and hollars of excitement all around as climbers were digging on the volume of the earthquake's roar and watching incredible rock avalanches across the valley. After it finished I crawled out of my tent to see great billows of dust clouds hanging from the valley cliffs and to listen to the tales of those who witnessed the huge rock falls. Later we learned the earthquake was about 6.5 on the Richtor and centered in Bishop, about 30 miles away. After an hour or so climbers started returning to Curry with their stories of either being at the base of cliffs or on climbs during the earthquake. There were a number of near misses. I happened to be in a group of climbers with Ray Jardine nearby when a particulary harrowing story was told. I can't remember the name of the climb, but it is about a 4 pitch crack and layback in a right facing dihedral that is formed by a gigantic pillar of rock leaning against the cliff. The crux pitch is hard 5.10 starting as a finger crack and eventually expanding to fist or wider, with laybacking the final part to the belay ledge being the technique of choice. At that time it was common to have a single set of Friends on a rack to supplement our hexes, as the cost of Friends was such a shocking advance in the economics of climbing. Those with more funds may have had two sets, which they would display with all the pride of a hunter with a trophy. One climber told the story of being in the middle of that layback pitch, halfway through the runout layback section at the top. He had a single set of Friends, and had protected as usual, with several hex placements then a Friend, several hex placements then a Friend, etc. until he had his last and largest Friend at the top of the widening section in his hand, ready to place, when the earthquake struck. Imagine his horror as suddenly the entire pillar started to sway back and forth, out and in from the main wall, as he was in the middle of a layback. He looked down to see ALL of his hexes rattling down the rope, with only the Friends left in place (since they were expanding and contracting quite nicely with the flexing of the crack). He suddenly realized that his last Friend was about 60 feet below! He hung on for dear life with both hands until the earthquake subsided, slammed in the last Friend, then sprinted up the last 20' of the layback to the belay ledge. They quickly rapped off. Unfortunately the 3 Friends placed in the early part of the climb could not be retrieved, since as they expanded and contracted they had "walked" so far back into the crack they couldn't reach the triggers. When Ray Jardine heard this story he immediately GAVE the man a new set of Friends and asked for his testimonial for his marketing.

Damn! When I saw the subject line I was thinking to myself, "What!? Ice climbing in Vegas!?" I almost started to think about breaking out the vintage tools and combining some climbing with my new found passion for tournament poker.

I was once paid as a consultant to a window washing crew that wanted to do a bid on a multi building apartment complex. The job required a series of "drops" or rappels to clean the 4 story stacks. I trained them how to rappel and where to set their anchors at the top of the building, some of which required 80 foot spread anchors across the roof to access certain points. While I got a couple hundred bucks for consulting, they landed the $2000 bid and the two man crew finished the job in two days. Hmmm, it seems there are a lot of mid sized buildings that require this kind of rappel procedure to wash the outside of the windows. This is a lot cheaper than getting trucks with lift ladders into tight locations.

Bear in mind this is an article from the main stream press. As such, I'm very impressed that they were able to resist using terms like "she CRAWLED up the cliff". Interesting that they know that the reader of this article would not need an explanation for the ratings on the listed suggested climbs. Gosh, sounds like there are enough easy routes for me to consider getting off the couch.

DeskDriver, you know the man! The notorious sneakers. The VILE Sneakers! I remember driving from Yosemite to Smith Rocks with Russell, with his Vile Sneakers strapped to the roof of his VW station wagon, with half a bottle of Lysol anointing them, in the hopes they could be resurrected and continue service. They were resurrected for one of the most extreme downhill runs I have ever witnessed. I can't remember the name of the area at Smith Rocks, but as you face the main cliff after crossing the bridge and hike to the right there is a steep scree and scrub slope going up to the upper cliffs. Russell enjoyed the sport of speed descent on slopes like this almost more than climbing. He flew down that slope at a full tilt run, wearing leather gloves the better to slap the ground to keep his careening center of gravity. Totally wild. I believe he was powered by the Sex Pistols on his Walkman.

UBB23-ML-408177-ML- nice story, but now it belongs here instead.

Often on an off day in Yosemite I would hang out in El Cap Meadows, watching the progress of friends up the various routes and scoping out the next wall project. During those idyllic afternoons tourists would often stop, from buses or cars or guided tours, and get out for their 15 minutes of gaping. Invariably they would come up to us, since we looked scruffy enough to be actual climbers, and ask us questions about climbing in general and climbing El Capitan in particular. It never failed that they had to ask THE QUESTION. "How do you, uh...you know...relieve yourself up there?" That is an excellent question. In those days the mode of choice was just changing from the "hang it out and let it fly" ethic, which left undesirable microbes in the cracks below, to the "do it in a paper bag and fling it as far out from the rock as you can" ethic. That new ethic, of course created an odiferous approach, especially under the Nose. I understand now the ethic is to pack out your poo poo. Memories of these conversations brought back an experience that was for me the most extreme "dump" I ever took. In the late 1970's Mike Adams and I tackled an ice climb right across the valley from the Alpental ski area. A short snow shoe to the base of a one pitch frozen waterfall with a 20' vertical section. The ice on the approach to the vertical section was the kind you dream of, like squeeky cork that would accept tool placements without shattering of any kind. Mike led off the climb and I belayed. It was a nice sunny day with the temperatures hovering around freezing. I watched the skiiers across the vally on the slopes of Alpental. As Mike made progress over the crux bulge and disappeared from view I was very excited to take my turn to follow the route. But suddenly I realized that I "had to go". But now was not the right moment, not out here in front of God and thousands of skiiers. There was no shelter immediately available, and it was hard to shout back and forth with Mike and he took up the rope and started yanking for me to follow the pitch. "Okay", I thought to myself, "I'll just climb fast, squeeze tight, and find a good depository up there in the trees above the climb." This plan worked adequately for the approach to the vertical bulge, but I was disappointed to be so distracted by nature's call and couldn't really enjoy the beautiful climb. As I approached the vertical part, nature became much more demanding. A rude shouting, in fact. Tautness of gluteal muscles were not going to have effect much longer. In desparation I noted that around the side of the vertical section there was a slight cave with a 70 degree slab of ice to stand on, with slight shaded protection from the view of the skiiers. Getting into a strenous bridge on the ice slab, facing out toward the valley, I began working on untying the rope from my harness and retying it around my body so I had some element of safety and so Mike wouldn't hoist the rope out of my grasp (he was a "yanker" for anyone who didn't follow quickly enough). Then I worked at untying my 1" tubular webbing harness, you know, the kind as outlined in Freedom of The Hills? THEN I started to unbutton my 13 button Navy surplus sailor's pants (that I had converted into spiffy knickers)... All the while said nature was having its way. By the time I had gone through this epic untying and unbuttoning struggle, with my thighs starting to burn from bridging on the steep ice, and pressure breathing to keep oxygenated from the workout, I had already started to soil my unders. I finally struggled and managed to get my knickers down to let the load fly with great abandon and relief. Then I had a problem. Here I was, with fertilizer in my unders, with no knife, and with Mike the Yanker hoisting at the rope, in a strenuous bridge. What to do? I certainly didn't want to hoist my unders back up. I did the only thing I could think of. I took my state of the art Sumner ice axe and started hacking at my unders, careful not to spill any of the contents. After some time I successfully cut them away, and after dumping out the load I found they made an excellent cleaning rag. I apologize for leaving the destroyed unders wedged between the rock and ice of the pillars. I hope that time and elements have been able to run their course with this obsenity. Rebuttoning my 13 button knickers, retying my harness, and retying into the rope took some time, with Mike the Yanker cursing and shouting above. Finally I was able to get out of that strenous bridge and bring relief to my aching thighs. With a sense of actual and metaphorical relief I literally felt lighter and almost floated up the vertical ice column, almost as an afterthought. Any contributors that would care to share their Most Extreme Dumps would be appreciated.

Quinn's Wild Rides Perhaps the whippers in discussion are related more to rock pitches and air time. I have a story of Quinn K, who took the most amazing falls and lived to tell the tale, or have the tale told. From my foggy memory the first fall of note happened on or near Vesper Peak the winter of 76/77, when there was so little snowfall that it was possible to rock climb in the Cascades. Ice gullies that were normally winter snow slogs became hard icy bits with vertical walls of rock where the ice had melted away. Quinn and a party of at least four had just completed one of these gully cum mixed climbs. While the rest of the party were packing away the gear to hike down the back side, Quinn, being Quinn, decided this was way too slow and too much work and announced he would climb back down the gully - solo. His group watched with amusement as he climbed down to the first rock band and tried to figure out how to get over the edge and down climb it. Finally he gave up on that idea and decided the best and fastest course of action - and understanding that he wanted to get down fast to prove to his partners that he was right in his choice to downclimb the gully - was to jump. His plan was to launch over the 10' cliff and land onto the 40 degree gully ice below then get into a self arrest with his specially hand customized Sumner ice axe. His partners watched him take the leap, and watched as he... ...lost his axe in mid flight. The story is then best described from the point of view of another party of climbers who were hiking up to the base. It is told that it was an exceptionally calm evening, without any hint of wind. "I heard what could only be known as the sound of nylon traveling over ice and snow at a high rate of speed...interspersed by moments of silence. I looked up into the gully and saw this blue bullet, flying over cliff bands then zipping down the next ice section to the next cliff band, take flight again, and again, and again. Then I was horrified to realize this was a PERSON! With a final tobaggon flip he was spit out from the bottom of the gully and came sliding down the snowfield toward us, and slid to a stop no more that 30 yards away. Then he popped up onto his feet and screamed, 'Will somebody get my f#)*ing AXE!'...and then he fell down on his back. We rushed up to lend assistance but that seemed to startle him and he jumped up and began hiking down the trail at a high rate of speed." After that, Quinn became convinced of his immortality. He began seeking out more and more dangerous free solos. The last I knew that he climbed he announced he was going to free solo all the routes at Peshastin in one day. He was well on his way to accomplishing this feat when he tried to solo past a roped party on a steep 5.8 route. The route features a traverse after a crux bulge and the poor lady following the route was facing a big pendulum fall if she unclipped the protection to make the move. Quinn, with his nervous energy and desire to accomplish his goal, volunteered to climb up RIGHT BEHIND the woman to walk her through the moves - after all he was immortal and could hold her if she fell. Indeed she did fall, taking Quinn with her. He grabbed around her legs for dear life and they plummeted on the most amazing pendulum fall I ever saw, both screaming at the top of their lungs. The poor gentleman that was belaying, not knowing what was going on, suddenly had an enormous pull on the rope, and what with the caterwauling below could only think the worst. When the pendulum finished they were lowered to the ground. Quinn, without saying a word, walked rapidly down the hill and hiked out to his car. To my knowledge that was the last he ever climbed.

First of all, congratulations on your first leader fall! The more you fall, the more you will improve. Trust me, I've logged a LOT of flight time. Usually the first fall or two of a season would be enough to get the fear cobwebs out of the head so I could be more serious in my efforts. Regarding your question of when to retire a rope, I think a number of people have already responded with the correct observation that your fall was about a 0.33 factor and probably less if you take into account that your fall probably had a dynamic belay and friction from your body on less than vertical rock, etc. etc. Personally, I fell on a given rope dozens if not hundreds of times. Most of the falls had less than 0.2 factor, since they were often higher up a climb with more rope to hold the fall. The most important reasons I would retire a rope would be if it had core showing through the mantle from an abrasion or cut, if sand had worked its way into the rope too much, or it just got plain old cruncy sounding from becoming brittle from UV exposure. Nothing like the soft pliable feel of a new rope...

During my misdirected youth I was so entirely focused on climbing the hardest routes I could, and putting up first ascents or first free ascents, that I often relegated the choice of partner to whoever was willing or able to work on the projects I wanted to work on. This was often to the detriment of enjoying friendships. In 1982 I made a climb that impacted me more than any other, for it really brought home to me the total enjoyment of climbing with someone that brings an element of joy and energy to the sport. I speak of Russell Erickson, aka Russell Machine. Those of you who climbed during that time will know Russell. He was a gifted climber, totally excited about the sport and very humble and unassuming. A perfect day for Russell was to hang out and work on difficult top rope problems or belay for those of us who were working on hard single pitch climbs. As a belayer he was like a personal psychology coach, constantly giving encouragement, "You can do it! Go for it! You got it!". He was unconditionally supportive and I can never recall a hint of upset or anger in him. Like many of us, he spent a month or two in Yosemite each spring. In 1982 I had it in my head to free climb the West Face of El Capitan. Wayne Kamera and I trained on several multipitch free climbs to prepare for our attempt. Russell helped us haul our gear to the base of the West Face and departed to leave Wayne and I to free climb the first 4 pitches and fix ropes for a fast start the next morning. Unfortunately the next day Wayne develop a viral flu as he was attempting one of the 5.11 pitches about 8 or 9 pitches up the climb and we had to abort. We were both very disappointed. Wayne was out of commission and I had no partner to do the West Face. I immediately asked Russell, but he declined because he had never done a multi pitch route before!? In all the time I had known him I never understood the fact that he had only done short climbs. Wow! After letting this sink in I realized that his entire joyful being was happy to hang out and do the most ridiculous problems of the day. But he always tried to shun attention to his accomplishments. Earlier that Spring someone came up to me and told me that he had just fired off A Separate Reality on sight! When I asked Russell about it he was embarrassed, "Oh I just did a little climbing today". That was his character. In desparation I started asking anyone I knew or met in the Valley to do the West Face with me, even if they couldn't climb at that level I just needed a belayer! Each evening I would share with Russell my frustrations and ask him again to do it with me. Finally, after about a week of trying to find someone Russell came up to me and said he would do it on one condition, that I could not tell anybody that he was going to do the climb! We snuck out of Camp IV (Sunnyside) early one morning and hiked to the base of the West Face with a new plan. This time we went very light, with one small daypack. We fixed the first 4 pitches (meandering and giving you two full ropes to jug) and settled in for a bivouac at the base. In those days, before Fire's or other ultra sticky soles, and before RP's, the opening pitches had some dicey 5.11 runouts over old aid terrain. The next morning we started jugging at first light, and were underway with climbing by 7:00 am. The rest of the day was a flow of beautiful climbing, very efficient leader changes, and a no fall no aid point free climb of the West Face. We finished at about 5:00 pm. The extra liters of cool aid and snacks in case of a forced bivy were consumed to gluttony as we watched the evening grow in the valley. The memories I have of that climb are centered around the pure joy I felt, the privelege to be able to share this outstanding climb with Russell. I also remember with laughter the intensity of his desire to climb FAST so we wouldn't be forced to bivy, and how he would look at the smallest cloud in a perfect sky with great concern for a gathering storm. There was also the most amazing 20' tall band of pure quartz crystals that stretched across the wall as far as I could see, crystals so big that I tied one off for protection as a joke. Mostly I felt pride to be able to share with Russell the first big wall he had ever done. After this climb I determined that I would never again allow my ambitions to get in the way of making sure that the climb was an extension of friendship. The reward is so much greater than the climb itself. If any of you know Russell, please have him get in touch with me.

I would like to extend my thoughts regarding bolting in general. First of all, if you must place a bolt do a proper job. Make sure it will remain in good condition for years to come. I have no problem with doing that on rappel or whatever it takes. Second, if a climb has available protection, no matter how "out there", please reconsider your decision to place a bolt. The most inspiring climbs I have done or just looked at in awe are the really difficult BOLD climbs that require imagination. Please do not destroy the possibility that there will be someone with the vision and ability in the future who will be able to do the climb in its most natural state. Instead, you might look inside yourself and ask if you are willing to commit yourself to the physical and mental training necessary to do the climb. Get inspired and train on similar well protected harder routes or boulder problems until you have the ability to give it a go. Rehearse it if you must. Leave a legacy of inspiration for others to follow. Small RP's and similar gear can take falls. I know this from personal experience, a lot of personal experience. If you can break through the mental barrier, then you only need to deal with the climbing itself. Use the energy of your fear to climb smoothly and beautifully, anything less will lead to failure. I am saddened to think that someone would take upon themselves to create a "sport route" bolt ladder up an existing statement of bold climbing. I am also saddened to think that in the rush to put up a first ascent that someone would reduce the climb to a sport route when it is really waiting for someone to be totally committed. No, I'm not suggesting creating suicide routes, but I am suggesting that with modern training and climbing culture that it seems there may be a rush to eliminate long runouts or eliminate the mental and physical skill and strength necessary to place gear on lead. The essence of extreme climbing is all about resting in the most inobvious places, and expanding your vision of available holds and how they can help you move. Doing that on a climb that has I high fear factor also requires controlling your fear so that your vision doesn't narrow. How many times have you been desparately hanging on, trying to place a piece of protection, only to find that while your strength was failing that once you clipped into the protection you could relax...only to see a large ledge out to the left that allows you to stem across and drop your hands for a total rest? Tunnel vision created by fear does that. It is the control of fear in addition to the climbing that makes such bold climbs so inspiring to me. I hope they are also inspiring to you. By the way, directly below ROTC on Midnight Rock, to the right of the right facing dihedral, there is a vertical to overhanging face that always inspired me with its possibilities for a really radical face and flake climb. Has anyone ever tackled that one? That would be awesome.