One moment

[billcoe]

It was not so much that I knew the top would snap off and I'd fly, or whether I could pull the monkeys tail and live. This was a job that needed to be done, period! and done it would be. On the 2nd ascent of the Salathe Highway on the Old Witch Pinnacle, Adam had drilled a 2 bolt anchor on top which you can see in the overview pic below.

Ben Priestly, who'd found the spot, and I, had named the place Cathedral, and as you can see the pinnacles and flutes looked like just like a massive Gothic Euro style one. But "Cathedrals" are a dime a dozen. Theres' like 4 or 5 in Yosemite, every state seems to have at least one, New Hampshire is probably the most famous and there's currently a CAthedral in Oregon that some folks want to turn into a wilderness area. And it ain't this one. I'd had been trying to call the place CAthedral FORMATION, to distinguish it, but everyone dropped the "Formation" part anyway. Then these guys had started to call the place COEthedral, which is a hellaciously better name anyway. Maybe cause there are so many Cathedrals, maybe cause I was so full of the spirit of the place. It was all I could think of in his waking hours. Anyway, it was a damn uncomfortable location on top of that Pinnacle where Adam sat up there with the Witches spiky hair bun up his ass at the Coethedral Formation. The sling you see on top in the pic below had been the rap anchor for my FA the previous year. The cold joint below the top had been the focus of many a discussion before and after that ascent. The red helmet you see below is Jeff Thomas at the start of the Salathe Highway route which ascends the South side from the notch.

 

I had followed Adam up on the 2nd ascent and wanted to confirm the quality of the bolt placements. There were but only 2 bolts there for a rappel in that thin top and he knew that many, many climbers would be following the great line they were intending to put in up the main buttress to the top in future years. No matter how great and skilled any climber was, there was only one way down. That was clipping and rappelling these bolts. They would all be putting their lives in our hands when they rappelled off of Adam's 2 lonely looking rappel bolts. The responsibility weighed heavy on my heart and I'd rather I'd have been putting them in myself. Yet as an electrician, Adam frequently drilled this stuff for a living. So there he was, 350 feet or so off the ground on a pinnacle which looked like this:

In fact that is the very pinnacle. Can you see the Witch up there? NO?

 

How about below?

 

 

Climbing over Ujahns back, who'd been belaying Adam, and arriving on top, I had clipped a sling into one of Adams fresh rap bolts that were located within a foot of the top, just to the right of the black sling in the picture, and had jumped on it. Jumped is a weak term, slammed down is a better descriptor. I figured if I could get a high fall factor onto it, and slamming done with a static sling was one way to do that, then it could be judged safe for the hordes that would be following in the many years to come.

 

Adam, still sitting on top of the spire, nearly shit and quickly exclaimed in what could be construed a slightly tense voice: "OMG, I felt the whole damn thing shift when you did that" .

This was me in this location the previous year, Adam had shot the photo below. The bolts I reference were right about where my left butt cheek was, and my feet were just below where my foot was when I slammed her down. A bit .....exposed.

...Understatement of the year: it was the wrong damn place for that feeling. This rock was thin...and soft which like old fish and rancid coleslaw at the Fish and chips place, a bad combo platter.

 

In seconds of evaluating Adams comment and having it really register, I immediately hopped over the top on the other side, dropped down below where the existing and only route to the top (The Salathe Highway) comes in and started putting in a massive 1/2 x 6-1/4 wedge anchor that we'd been using on other lines and had been planning on using on the direct line were were calling Bewitched. The only route to the top had been down with natural gear, and bolts would have made it much easier, but less interesting. The front side needed the bolts. The lines of these routes are drawn in the first picture up there. Within 3 min the bolt was whacked in and torqued with a torque wrench, and a figure 8 knot was in as a back up for Adam, who was still uncomfortably straddling and stoking the bitch's hair with his ass cheeks 12' above, expectantly waiting to bring Ujahn up, while I relaxed below the cold joint.

 

The best laid plans of the winter back in town to take their sweet time and get the very best line, which we had pre-named "Bewitched" for the sickness she'd put inside of my head, was now officially out the window. I immediately started rapping and putting in bolts to get both the top pitch ready and to get the lower anchor, still @ 280' off the deck, put in. Ujhan and Adam stayed put till they were mostly in and I was putting in the top (3rd) pitch belay anchor bolts. Then Ujahn headed up. As soon as he could, Adam quickly gets the hell off that wobbly top, cobblestone imprints in both cheeks no doubt: and raps down the front side to me, comparing notes on how terrified they both had felt a bit ago on the tippy top when he had felt the top had rocked over. Ujahn leads the pitch to the top and raps back down, confirming the awesome and stellar quality of the climbing. Unique to Oregon.

 

I really wanted to get a feel for what Adam thought the "official" grade was, as i was both pretty gripped and pretty focused when I was on it solo the year before. It's way out there scary, which was confirmed when Adam responded to the question that it was "easy on the Yosemite scale" (maybe 5.6), but way up there on the (emotional) "shrinkage" scale (7 out of 10). I didn't say that I'd given it a 9 of 10 on the shrinkage scale myself.

 

Pitch 2 : about 200' off the deck, I had lowered Adam down the cliff to take a shot at toproping P2 and marking where the bolts should go. Adams trust level has been shot with his girlfriend having dropped him, on purpose due to her hands burning, just toproping, in fact. I had never had any issues like that in 38 years of climbing and calmed him down enough so that Adam, a very strong climber of 28 years, and great company at all times, would toprope the 2nd pitch and explore what Adam felt was the best line as he climbed, making x's with a large piece of playground chalk where he thought the best location for the bolts would be. I had thought that given that this climb could potentially be one of the best in the state, time and care should be exercised in the route crafting. Adam was in totally agreement, for this line was his dream and fixation as well (how many people ever get the opportunity to put in the "best route in the state" after all?), and explored for some time till he was satisfied.

 

Yet in the back of their minds was the shocking ugly elephant in the room: ie, that fucking top might blow on the next dudes to rap off it and just kill them. Could they come back, finish the route, and determine if it was safe and if not, put in an anchor that avoided the killer top? First they would have to see if the top could be forced off it's axis. How could they do that without power equipment? It was decided that I would climb up there and try and pull it off. A crazy stupid idea, for it left one with the bad taste and question if he could survive it if he could get it to roll off.

 

Yet a sense of duty pervaded their thinking, and this should be done, it MUST be done and done well so as to increase the survivability for their bros. Living longer than John Bachar, Derek Hershey or Dwight Bishop is small consolation to a widow and surviving family.

 

...to be continued.......

 

 

 

While you are waiting, reflect on this:

 

One moment, life is sweet and you're soaring

Next moment, you're FUBAR flying terrified through the air clipped off to a boulder larger than a pickup truck hurtling 350 feet to the deck, your rope having snapped in 2 like a shoelace, in a massive uncontrolled nightmare auguring motion. The sweetness but a distant and forgotten memory.

Until that time, my compadres, let life continue to be sweet for you, do well to others. It's life until it isn't, and no one gets out alive.

 

anyway, the rest of the story....

 

ps, Once we'd got back out there, without Ujahn, I was wondering what the hell I was thinking. The top is solidly affixed, so I double checked the top as I followed Adam up it. Here he is on where the sub-pinnacle ends.

 

the view from below taken from 200' off the deck.

 

 

After the 2nd ascent of the Salathe Highway to the Witches top and finishing drilling the 2nd pitch bolts, we had rapped down from the 2nd pitch of the Witch Buttress and left 2 ropes fixed for climbing up later. Here's the lads coming down those ropes.

Later, Scott Peterson had lapped the first pitch on a wet day and marked where he thought the route should go. Later we got back out there and drilled the bolts where the chalk marks were for the best bolts and Adam climbed the last (lower pitch) pitch, and thank the good lord Adam was there. The plan had been he'd lead 1, me 2, him 3. Well, Adam climbs better than me, and it was a shock when in following him on the very first pitch, no more than 10 feet off the deck my arm got pumped out. I'd like to blame the fact that the rock was still wet, or that I was freezing my butt off, or that Adam has whined and worked hard when he was climbing, or that my arm was pumped, or that my muddy shoes were not grabbing, or that by the time I climbed up to the end of the 1st pitch where Adam was belaying me my balls had shrunken enough that they were somewhere up below where my tongue resides. The bottom line was that I wasn't feeling the love and wanted my mommy and a warm blanky. So I asked Adam if he'd lead and he didn't want it any more than I did. Just before I was ready to fire it, Adam steps up to the plate (yeahhhhh!) It might have been the longest 3 hour lead of a 150' pitch ever:-) Each rock was tested and retested, some rained down with the odd hummock here and there that Adam was ripping off to make a foot hold or handhold, while others waited for Adam to weight them before popping off and trying to kill me as they raced for the deck. I tried to make believe I was small, hunching my shoulders staying close to the rock, but it didn't help my psyche much as the rocks whistled past.

 

Strangely, the light rain didn't bother him, so I did enough shivering for us both, perhaps it was fear or perhaps it was the cold. Following was slow for me, but I eventually made it up to Adam, fired off the last pitch and took my time checking the cold joint as thoughtfully and carefully as possible.