Lurking Fear: The Finale

It'd be nice to write a romantic finish to this saga but alas, we've been home long enough for you all to know the truth.

Back at the base of Lurking fear with tired legs (but with replacement water), we prepared to sleep. the last time we'd do so on solid ground for a couple of days. Yet Yosemite valley had one more thing to throw at us, the smoke.

The Tioga pass was burning and someone had laughingly remarked that usually even a small fire on the valley rim causes horrific air quality in the valley most years, but not this year. Well, the wind had changed and it started snowing, although the white flecks that fell weren't so much snow but instead ash. Huge flecks of ash and thick smoke filled the air. 

We went to sleep setting the alarm for 5am (first light).

When we awoke there were no signs of daybreak, the smoke filling the valley was shrouding what little light you'd expect at sunrise. Instead we set the alarm back one more hour. Again we awoke and it was still pitch black. Ash still fell from the sky and everything from the trees to our sleeping bags were covered in a thin film of dust.

Things started getting lighter (barely) an hour or so later and I began jummarring up the first of our lines distinctly unhappy. Visibility was poor and the air had a horrible acrid taste. I stopped every few movements and voiced my concerns to Nat, this wasn't pleasant and it wasn't going to get better. She, convinced that we'd be happy once we re-gained our high point put a positive spin on things and I pushed on for a few more moves before voicing my concerns again.

The day was generally grim. I was unhappy, the last of the enjoyment of the route being removed by yet another set-back and despite making excellent time to our high-point and then one pitch more, that fact wasn't changing. I'd reached the point of mental exhaustion and had zero will to climb let alone suffer.

Unlike before, at this anchor we had three bolts at our disposal allowing for a much neater asymmetric hang of the ledge (no dropped pole this time) and the bag within reach (it's amazing what you learn). Excellent. It was 4 pm and the sun had only just broken through the smoke one hour earlier so we took the time to enjoy our ledge.

This short glimmer of optimism didn't last long. Nat had been convinced that reaching our high-point would change my mind on the route but as the sun started to set, the smoke returned in force and so too did my bad mood. I went to sleep but not before telling Nat that she needed to force me to climb the next pitch in the morning. Once the traverse was done retreat would involve a lot of hassle and we'd likely just keep going upward.

During the night it rained. We considered putting up the outer fly but as this involved basically unclipping the entire ledge we both thought better of it, instead, rolling over and willing it to stop.

In the morning we awoke to yet more smoke and I finally cracked, laying out my honest feelings about the route and how much I was hating this experience. I can still remember the feeling now, simply put I didn't want to be anywhere near Yosemite, it was time to leave. Many of the first ascent stories in the guidebook tell of partners both keeping similar thoughts to themselves instead of sharing it with their partner for fear of looking weak but that's somewhat harder to do when you're climbing as a married couple and can tell by the way one person opens a power bar!

Back at the base of the route we agreed our next holiday (Morocco it turns out) wouldn't involve ropes, or climbing. Nat was crushed and I felt a strange mix of relief and anger.

Climbing for this trip pretty much ended here. Yosemite continued to burn until most of the entrance roads were closed and Colorado (our departure airport) flooded. 

We spent the remainder of our time in Vegas / Zion hoping for the bad weather to pass but it never did (and when it did the National Parks all closed for the Government shut-down). Instead we concentrated on enjoying a few more touristy sights, the Hoover Dam, Bryce Canyon and The Virgin Narrows slot canyon.

Two days before we were due to fly home we sold our van to a band  (Cold River City) from Boulder, CO intent on touring across the West coast.

...and that was that.

Lurking Fear: Round 2

Or was it (too hot)?

Having ditched everything except bear-bait at the base of the route we'd stumbled our way back down to the bridge. Erik (his ever cheery self) quickly informed us that we'd had terrible luck, the last day was scorching and far in excess of the temperatures we'd experienced only a few days earlier whilst sat gazing upwards.

We pondered this information whilst once again enjoying the chilled water of the Merced river, El Cap looming above (as ever).

A day or so more passed before it was decided that the indignity of walking back to the haul bags to simply fight them back to the valley floor was too much. Instead, we'd go up and re-fix (noting that we were idiots for NOT leaving the ropes fixed to P3) to get a feel for just how hot it really was. Yes, this is all sounding very familiar and very predictable.

Frustrations started showing through almost immediately and the playlist on my iPod had turned a distinct corner to music that can only be described as 'angry', yet we persisted. It certainly was hot but this time we made it to the base of the route with half of our water and promptly began re-fixing.

Things went to plan. In fact, given we both knew what was required (placements, ropework etc.) we made incredible time through the first three pitches and soon we were fixing our ropes back to the ground. We returned to the valley floor for a well earned rest, intent on eating our own bodyweight in pizza before we'd head up late one evening, bivi, then blast (all to beat the sun)!

Late evening, a few days later, we loaded the remainder of the water and all of the food (mostly pizza) into the smaller bags and started the oh-so-familiar walk for (hopefully) the final time. The light faded rapidly and we found ourself at the base of the route getting ready to sleep well after dark.

I don't know what caused it but for some reason I had the strong desire to check our ropes and bags were still OK, I didn't want any delays in the morning. What I saw left me destroyed; one empty gallon jug of water was hung from a limp branch. On it was a piece of finger tape reading "you've been beared, next time store your food properly - smiley bear face". I shouted down to Nat and she came to have a look herself. The anguish was palpable, ~50 litres of water had been ditched as a punishment for leaving our haul bags on the floor. WTF!

Nat cried and I was done (I spent a good while kicking the haul bag to make that point). The whole of Yosemite valley heard our frustrations.

A while passed before Nat (still in floods of tears) presented her plan, we'd load the food and water into one haul bag, jug and haul in the dark before descending to the valley floor for more water and knocking our start day back until the following day. This wasn't perfect, bad weather was heading into the valley and the effectiveness of our rest day was completely scrubbed (the haul bags would be a mess too), but it's better than being beaten by a Ranger, or over-zealous Yosemite-climber-type (and we really didn't have a choice with our flight date creeping up on us).

I jugged the first full rope length and began hauling. One thing I will say is that anger makes hauling fast (and therapeutic), I could even go 1:1.

We stumbled back to the bridge and happened upon a gathering of familiar, friendly faces a welcome end to the day.

Lurking Fear: Round 1

Driving from the Needles back toward the Valley we were both regretting our decision to return. Signs of trip-frustration had already started to show through at the Needles (where one entire day had been lost to sulking on my part, brought about by another party being on our chosen route) and heading back to the most stressful area of the trip thus far seemed foolish. That, and the forecast temperatures were to render the El Cap granite hotter than the surface of the sun!

Arriving in the valley we stopped at the bridge to gaze upwards through the NPS spotting scopes currently being manned by guidebook author Erik Sloan to find nobody climbing. Not a single soul. Talking to Erik confirmed our suspicions that the weather hadn't been conducive to big-wall climbing and thus we slunk off in search of our ledge which was being held at the YOSAR camp.

We spent the next few days hanging around the bridge (as many do), staring upwards and generally becoming anxious and more and more psyched. Erik is an extremely positive guy and it didn't take long for him to suggest that it may be possible to climb. We hung our ledge from a nearby tree and promptly started learning how on earth it went together. The answer to that question is not easily. It turns out that the bed material stretches with use so initially the frame is a PITA. Erik kindly helped and it wasn't long before we could (usually) get the ledge and fly up in a reasonable time.

The decision to try the route regardless was a foregone conclusion, we'd invested too much to simply drive straight back out, and anyway, it shouldn't take too much effort to at least fix the first few pitches (usually the first three).

We were soon to learn that our hopes of an El Cap route having a less arduous approach wasn't to be. Sure, the Nose is a nice and easy approach but around to the South-West face less so, involving talus, a grade III/IV scramble (which later needs hauling) and yet more talus to deposit you at the bottom of Lurking Fear (the easiest full aid line on El Cap).

Why not choose 'the Nose' I hear you say? Well, Lurking Fear offers us the rate opportunity to swing leads in its entirety with the crux pitches coming in at a modest C2+ whereas 'the Nose' would be a significantly different prospect (one which wouldn't be fun for either of us). Lurking Fear as I said is dubbed the easiest aid line on El Cap and at 19 pitches + 400ft of slabs at the top it's a little more manageable than some other options (Salathé for instance at >30 pitches). However, with barely any natural stances, let alone ledges, it's a very different prospect to many routes. 

Now back to the route:

At the base of the route I racked up and started up the first pitch, mainly hooking between bolts (hooking is surely the most fun part of aiding). The second pitch went to Nat and consisted of C1 hooking, a bolt ladder and then a seam. However, at the end of the bolt ladder (and out of sight) she called down and claimed the topo made little to no sense (the free variation splits off at some point) and that she was belaying at an intermediate stance. By this time things were hotting up as the sun made its way around the corner and onto the SW face (~11 AM). Cleaning the pitch I became aware of just how hot it was and realised when I arrived at Nat that her decision to stop was more of an unconscious protest at the heat. We rapidly changed over, I moved the belay to the correct place at the end of the second pitch and we quickly descended to escape the  ever increasing heat, fixed one pitch lower than we'd intended.

Back on the floor and a few rest days later things didn't look too bad. We'd banished the memory of the hot walls and enjoyed ourselves in the cool Merced river. Yet more practice with the ledge and we were feeling fairly slick (for n00bs). Oinky was once again packed, this time for four days and with extra water to combat the heat (as recommended). In fact the water ration totalled a staggering 40 kg and with food and sleeping gear I couldn't lift the bag without serious help.

The next morning an early start had us at the base of El Cap as it was barely light yet we were moving slower than expected. The haul bag was so heavy I couldn't manage more than 20 m or so before I needed to stop. It took us an age to make it to the base of the slabs at which point I jugged to rig the haul. Being a first class idiot my 2:1 ratchet was conveniently hanging at belay number 1 so a make shift haul device consisting of one pulley (1",not big enough) and a handled ascender was our only option. At 1:1, space-hauling was the only option so once leashed I put on my GriGri and threw my meagre weight on the opposite side to the bag. It didn't budge, not even an inch. I screamed down to Nat to check if it was stuck? No, it was just heavy. Some time later Nat joined me at the belay. Oinky was still sat on the floor. However, with the both of us on the opposing side of the line we just about managed to get the pig moving, but it wasn't fast. My arc'teryx harness hurt me badly during this haul cutting deeply into my waist to the point where I was noticeably bleeding. Not a good start.

The last section of talus was as gruelling as expected and we made it to the base of the fixed lines by 11 AM, just as the sun crept around the corner. Jugging and hauling the first two pitches was completed as the mercury steadily rose. The next pitch, the 'window pane flake' went fast with plenty of leap frogging made possible by a stuck link-cam (seriously don't buy these, they just get stuck). At the top of P3 I couldn't haul fast enough to get to the water I needed, the 1L bottle on my harness had lasted about 1/3rd of the pitch and I was parched. The sun was searing and even shirtless I was over-heating (temperatures were in the region of 38'c). P4, fun hooking to a thin and fiddly crack took time and the heat was starting to take effect (especially due to the hauling) but thankfully at the end of 4 I could rest, it was Nat's pitch next. She made admirable progress and finally the shade began to creep up the wall. We'd agreed to stop early on Day 1 to ensure we could at least put our ledge up in guaranteed light but predictably we'd failed. By the time I made it to the belay the light was fading fast. Typically there wasn't even a hint of a stance and we were left standing in our aiders, head-torches on, looking at our brand new ledge. 'Pass the Pitons Pete' once wrote "it isn't practice unless you're standing in aiders" (or words to that effect) and he was dead right, all of our practice counted for nothing hanging in our harnesses without any light, arms spread holding aluminium bars as wide as we could. In our haste to remove the ledge from the bag, we forgot about the fly tent pole and thus we watched it fall, extend and then snap as it cratered into the ground. Finally we had the ledge up and serviceable, suspended from 5m of haul line (ensuring it swung from side to side with the slightest movement), with the bags suspended above us at the belay (note to self: learn how to far end haul).

We were exhausted, and after a few mouthfuls of pasta-salad I collapsed into a deep sleep, waking only to shriek in mild alarm as the ledge rocked from side to side.

When the morning came, it was clear the previous day had taken its toll. Nat tried her best to pack up the haul bag to continue whilst I was dry-heaving over the side of the ledge, unable to stand without feeling overcome with dizziness. It was clear I wasn't in a fit state to go upwards and in fact it turned out I was barely in a fit state to head down. Nat loaded herself with all of the gear and proceeded to descend. What followed was her coaching me down safely from every belay (as I was struggling to remember how to put my belay plate on the ab-ropes safely) whilst she descended with our outrageous loads.

Back at the base we removed the food from the haul bags and ditched everything else for a later date... clearly it was simply too hot for Lurking Fear.

Yaniro is my Hero

In 2011 the Needles (CA) lookout burned down in a self-contained 'structural fire'. At this point the Forestry Service decided that it wasn't worth repairing and thus the access road ceased to be maintained.

With this in mind the van was loaded with the maximum amount of food (and more importantly water) that we could fit with us still being able to move. We estimated (at a push) it'd last us a solid week, long enough that we'd be able to get in and out, only risking one journey up the infamous road (I knew a friend had made it up in a Dodge Caravan the year before but I had seen evidence of the same car beached on a sea of rock boulders in the middle of the desert too).

The base of the road didn't seem too bad, it was simply the usual dusty rutted unmade road affair that we were getting fairly used to, but as we progressed it worsened and steepened (not ideal given the load we were carrying). Half a mile later we were beached diagonally across the sandy track with our running boards firmly wedged on the floor. The automatic gear box gives little control (and no diff-lock) and thus the only solution was stamping the pedal to the floor after wedging whatever we could find behind the rear wheels. With the smell of burning clutch/rubber we somehow found traction and the van roared up the track  (mighty V8!) dangerously weaving from left to right. My unwillingness to risk another beaching left Nat to follow running behind as I wreaked havoc on our precious abode.

We arrived at the (primitive) camp spot soon after (miraculously unscathed) and I took pleasure in noting that everything else was both high clearance and 4WD... apart from one Honda Fit, missing the majority of its lower trim.

From the campsite you're forced to walk along the ridge for 2.5 miles to reach the site of the old lookout (the gateway is now bent so you can access the top of the pinnacle where the charred lookout foundations still sit). From here yet more walking leads to the various notches that form the access points to the Needles proper.

Another problem with the Needles (besides the access) is the lack of a guidebook. Rumour has it that the author of the 'upcoming' (never coming?) guidebook was near completion when his laptop was stolen, and with it the only full copy. The task of re-writing the guide was seemingly too daunting and thus the only information is via the 'So-Cal select' guidebook (not much) or via internet topos (of varying accuracy, perpare yourself for 1990s HTML if you dare click).

Nonetheless MountainProject lists the top-picks for the area and we set about warming into the area with the many starred 'Igor Unchained'. I don't think either of us were prepared for the astounding quality of our first route, 3-4 pitches of perfect splitter granite with an overhanging final pitch that offers outrageous fun.

The quality continued day on day as we stuck to the well-travelled classics; 'Airy Interlude', 'Thin Ice', 'Fancy Free' etc., all of which lived up to their great reputation. However, once off the beaten track the climbing often became dirty with poor topos and incredibly inaccurate gear-recommendations (you have been warned!).

Two routes from the Needles make it into '50 classic climbs', Randy Leavitt picked 'Romantic Warrior' (a bit out of our league for this trip!) and Tony Yaniro chose his own 'Sirocco' (more my cup of tea [not 'Equinox' though?]). After warming up on the rope-stretching first pitch of 'Thin Ice' we quickly scurried down to the huge choked boulder on which the route begins. What followed was some of the finest climbing of its sort I've encountered, combining vicious crimping with techy arête climbing. The mixture of new and old fixed gear makes it unclear if the route is truly in its original state.

With the walk-in (and out) each day it makes sense to stash the climbing equipment under one of the many boulders. Removing the bags each morning is made interesting due to the presence of rattle snakes (with a friend warning me that a climber had been 'snapped at' the year he was there). Thankfully, we didn't see any such snakes.

 

With the food and water (plus willpower for the walk) running dangerously low we were forced to leave the Needles, the descent down the road being a little easier aided by gravity. However, one route remained, and despite its relatively low technical grade we didn't want to leave without it. 'White Punks on Dope' on Voodoo Dome has an alternative approach and after a day at Kern River cooling off (complete with a rubber ring) we just about had the motivation to stumble up and give it a go (its South facing aspect demands an early start for which neither of us were keen).

Earlier in the week we'd lent our topo of said route to some other climbers and thankfully they'd taken the time to annotate it so that the route was discernible from the other crack-lines that start all over the base of the dome. Like the other routes, this didn't disappoint, with a long first pitch of impeccable quality.

The next pitches weren't all that wonderful with one chimney filled with nothing but large blocks and mungey bridging. However, what followed was an endless (truly) finger corner leading to a slab that looked so blank I was amazed it was climbable (let alone at such an amenable grade). This pitch was made more interesting by the now baking sun and the sportingly spaced bolts (3 or 4 on the pitch). An awesome pitch.

With our wish-list for the area complete we retreated back to Kern River to enjoy yet more time cooling off, impressed by an area we previously knew little about.

Going South

With a large storm predicted, a month of time spent and a dwindling hit-list, it was time to leave Squamish. The atmosphere is so relaxed that realistically if we had stayed any longer we mightn't have left at all.

Toby had been suggesting that it'd be remiss of us to not visit Vancouver before leaving Canada. Although it's less than 2 hrs from Squamish, we still hadn't 'quite' managed to fit it in on a rest day. Stopping briefly in MEC to pick up our new (super skinny, super scary) 7.5 mm half rope, we continued on into the heart of the city, letting the satnav app plot our route. This ended up with us taking the 'scenic' route through one of the supposedly most notorious streets for drug abuse and homelessness. Arriving at the coast, we parked up at 'Second Beach' and began the stroll along the waters edge to Granville Market (via a taxi boat).

Inside the market we both indulged our inner fat kid by enjoying as much of the great looking food as we could manage (there was far more worth testing) before it was time to leave for the CA/USA border.

Arriving at the border we faced the usual questions and all seemed to be going to plan. We were re-directed to gain a 'Visa Waiver' as ours had expired and this is where things began going awry. We happened upon a rather officious border control employee who was following the rules to the letter. From what I understand the Visa waiver programme basically requires you to fly back to your continent of residence between your 90 day stay allowances. Exiting to Mexico, or in our case Canada, isn't deemed acceptable and is technically classed as an 'overstay' (a dreaded word and one that misses the point that you actually left the country of jurisdiction). The next few hours weren't fun, although having read of similar stories we were prepared with enough documents to support our case (mortgage statement, sabbatical letter, proof of finance, return flight etc.). In the end a supervisor was summoned and after he had (quickly) ascertained that we hadn't overstated our initial 90 days in the states, we were issued another 90 days. Phew!

On the way up to Canada many of our 'tourist ticks' failed due to weather and this time Nat was adamant that we'd be going to see the picturesque Oregon coast line so she could relax on a beach. A suitable town just south of the appropriately named 'Seaside' was chosen and predictably we arrived to thick, low hanging fog. Local by-laws make staying there incredibly difficult and thus we were moved on for the first time in this trip at 1 AM by the local Sheriff. Thankfully he pointed out somewhere he deemed acceptable for us to sleep (a mere mile away). We awoke to yet more fog and finally concluded that we weren't meant to see the seaside.

The rest of the drive was fairly boring, ploughing down the I5 stopping only to change over and fuel our V8 (repeatedly). On finding a large white rabbit underneath a picnic table in a rest stop which belonged to a local couple who appeared to be living there, we concluded the states must be extremely bizarre if you ever dare venture to the deep Southern states.

Arriving in Carson city we stopped for the standard dinner and a movie before carrying on to Lake Tahoe. Unlike last time the lake wasn't shrouded in mist and rain and thus Nat finally managed to enjoy a day on the beach.

The next climbing destination was in the 'High Sierras': 'The Incredible Hulk'. With a 6 mile approach which gains around 3,000ft in altitude (finishing at 11,120') logistics and altitude prove the main stumbling blocks. The latter causing us both to be seriously out of breath when climbing even the relatively steady pitches of 'Red Dihedrals' (the day was spent with a very light head).

The walk-in is in fact a little over-hyped (Nat may contest this) and thus we took bivi gear, approaching on day 1, sleeping (with great views of the 'Milky Way') and then climbing and descending on day 2. In reality a long day car to car would probably just about have been feasible. 

Just outside of Bishop (our next stop-over) is 'Cardinal Pinnacle' (a recent addition to the SuperTopo guidebook) which is described as mini-Hulk (with a mini approach to match), a great warm-up for the real thing (oops). The granite on our chosen 'West Face' route was some of the highest quality we've encountered and in typical High Sierra style, we topped out as the thunder and lightening began its show.

Coming down back into Bishop we both became aware of the sound of metal on metal. Our brake pads had totally disintegrated which made for a 'fun' 12 mile descent back into the town (ruining the discs simultaneously).

Stranded back in Bishop waiting for a local garage to open we opted for yet another dirtbag dinner and a movie. Thankfully we were saved from our terrible choice of "Red 2" due to the storm escalating and starting a fire (lightening strike) which took out the local power.

The next days were spent either lounging in nearby coffee shops or the local hot springs before the van was fixed and we could carry on with our journey.

Squamish

Squamish was one of the destinations on the itinerary which I was most looking forward to. Whilst I didn't know any of the specific routes, I'd seen pictures of the awesome looking granite (rumours suggesting that it beat Yosemite hands-down) and heard good things from friends who had been.

Driving in and seeing 'The Stawamus Chief' for the first time, I have to admit I doubted if the area was going to sustain us for the month we had planned there. However, purchasing the local guide and quickly turning to the 'Top 100' list, there certainly seemed to be plenty to get going with!

We quickly got stuck in, with 'Skywalker' being the first route on the agenda. The 5.8 crux corner pitch felt stiff until we realised that the granite here had much more friction, so that you could actually smear, a novelty compared to straight-in crack climbing. As we continued to pick off the classic lower grade routes (I was granted an easier month after leaving Yosemite behind), it was clear that actually the grades were rather kinder (Paul: softer) than Yosemite, and the granite consistently bulletproof at every grade.

The nature of the (mainly) West facing routes meant that we quickly fell into a routine of climbing until early afternoon and then chilling out in 'Zephyr Cafe', the local coffee shop and climber's hang-out (Mmm Chilli Mocha). Squamish was a refreshing change from the US. With climbing, walking, cycling and Kiteboarding all in close proximity, the town boasts a healthy active populous, a stark contrast to 'fat' America. Some of the highlights of the town included the local 'Howe Sound Brew Pub' (Mmm King Heffy) and the weekly Saturday farmer's market.

The perfect weather made life easy as we worked through the tick list. 

The Chief is comprised of a number of tiers, broken by densely forested ledges, meaning you can start at the road (i.e. the 'Lower Apron') and climb as far as you like (one of the peaks), with the crowds diminishing the higher you go. The first route we topped out on 'the Chief' had us slightly concerned (following our Eldorado epic and the complex descents of Yosemite) as the guide read only 'Descent' (followed by a vague arrow on the topo), but on summiting amidst the crowds of tourists, it was evident the cliff top was rather too easily accessible. With tourists literally climbing over one another to get down the 'Via Ferrata' style ladder down from the 'Second Peak', getting back down took nearly as long as climbing up (bolted anchors allow for fast upward progression).

I still can't get over the friendly American/Canadian attitude of congratulating you on the way down from having topped-out, with comments such as "Good job guys!"' and "You go girl!" (Paul: the latter directed at Nat only!). I guess we're far too British, and as we descended the tourist trail, getting repeatedly asked how the climb went, the answer changed from "Yeah really great" to a muttered "Hmmm OK" (or, leave me alone I'm British) as we got closer to the road.

One thing which must be noted about Squamish is the extreme accessibility of the climbs. This extends not only to the non-existent approaches, but to the climbs themselves. There seems to be an almost competitive attitude between first ascensionist to make their climbs as accessible as possible, with bolts thrown in like they're going out of fashion (they're clearly not). This extends to the level of one route having a bolt before the traversing crux to protect the leader, and a second bolt a foot later for the second, both next to perfectly acceptable natural placements. 

(Paul: This is made even more bizarre by the juxtaposition of routes such as 'Genius Loci' (which means spirit of the place), held in such high esteem by the local climbing community. Hamish Fraser (dubbed as the best climber you've never heard of) established this line with minimal top down cleaning and ground-up bolting, a noble ethic followed by few. However, Squamish (or Canada) was described as having a tolerant nature and not suffering from "British ethical hangups" and thus, many routes of different styles happily coexist. A video of 'Genius Loci' can be found here).

They also seem to be rather chainsaw happy ("this route is sponsored by Stihl"), and it isn't at all uncommon to find a perfectly good tree had been removed and replaced with a bolted anchor. 

(Paul: To a certain degree the level of 'cleaning' is understandable. Routes here are not 'opened' or 'realised', they are 'dug' out. Nature is so aggressive in this part of the world that cracks re-fill with dirt within a year if not climbed and the sprawling trees will soon cover a forgotten line, their leaves shedding onto the featureless friction slabs. 

When Fred Beckey began climbing in Squamish it sounds as if most of the time was spent simply swinging from tree to tree (in fact the recent Tami Knight article in Alpinist suggests that if you haven't climbed a tree in Squamish part way up a route, you haven't truly experienced Squamish). For some insight into new route development in Squamish try reading 'The First Rule of Dig Club'.)

In spite of this, we were enjoying the 'easy' nature of the area and some of the fantastic routes on offer. One of my favourite areas was 'The Papoose', with 'Centrefold' being one of the best routes we did in Squamish. With quality crack climbing, technical slabs and delicate cruxes, what more could one want from a route? Paul did however manage to add a good few grades to the final balancey slab by ignoring the chalked features out left and forging a direct path to the summit, via a minging crimp.

Mid way through our time in Squamish, we received the generous offer of accommodation from (UKB owner) 'Insect Overlord #2' (more commonly known as Toby). Now with a full sized bed and a shower, Squamish was more comfortable than ever (although I did miss playing on the monkey bars with the kids in the local swimming pool!).

The 'Arc'teryx Film Fesival' which arrived around the same time, also brought with it Mina. It was great to see a familiar face (possibly the first on the trip), and together we experienced the local coffee, alcohol and ice cream (we did however pass on the offer of going bouldering!).

One of the reasons Squamish was feeling so relaxed, is there weren't many specific routes we wanted to do. We were content just working our way through the 'Top 100'. However, one of the few routes we (read Paul) were particularly keen for, was the 'Grand Wall' (the only Parois tick in Squamish). Attempt 1 unluckily coincided with one of only 2 rainstorms in the whole month we were there, and we had to bail from below the 'Split Pillar'.

Getting back on the route the next day to try again, it was quickly clear I was having one of those days were I should have just stayed in bed. I felt knackered, but was determined not to bail (mistake #1). While Paul made fairly short work of the Split Pillar (after scurrying back down for a #3), I found my child sized hands didn't really fit, and was forced to layback most of the pitch. With much cursing and far too many rests on the rope, I managed to drag myself to the top of the pillar. Seconding the next pitch (the 'Sword of Damacles' into a bolt ladder) I decided it would be faster to second the whole pitch 'Big Wall Style' (as opposed to 'French Freeing' which is the norm). I had also taken the decision back at the car to bring a 'Micro Traxion' instead of my handled ascender to save weight (mistake #2). I quickly got the Micro Traxion jammed against a biner and spent the best part of the next hour (much to Paul's displeasure) trying to un-jam it. On the next pitch ('Perry's Layback') I decided to try and go quickly to make up for lost time (mistake #3). I managed to throw half a quickdraw and a biner over my shoulder into oblivion on my way up the pitch. I waited until we had summited (and I had fed Paul a sandwich) before I broke this casualty to him. Not my finest day.

Nearly at the end of our month in the area, there was one more route we were particularly keen to get on; 'Sunset Strip'. Not in the guide, this brand new line had just recently gone up between 'Millennium Falcon' and 'The Gauntlet', and was getting a lot of traffic from the locals. It didn't disappoint. Easily the best route we'd done in Squamish, and one of the better routes on the whole trip, the line followed flawless hand and finger cracks with bolted face cruxes up 12 incredible pitches (not including the last sandbag 5.9 chimney!).

Squamish was done. An incredible month and some of the most enjoyable climbing we've done. If you want impressive scale, go to Yosemite. If you want impeccable granite and consistent quality, visit Squamish!

Going North

So, it was time to leave 'the Valley' and not a moment too soon. Its very easy to become stale in Yosemite, everything is so readily available but it's far from a normal environment in which to spend large amounts of time.

Back on Highway 120 (the Tioga pass) we stopped off in Tuolumne for some shorter routes on 'Dozier Dome' before heading to the 'World Famous' 'Whoa Nellie Deli' located in the Lee Vining Chevron gas station to sample their legendary Fish Tacos. Very good.

For once, I'd conceded that we could actually do a few touristy things on the long drive North. The first stop (and not very far away) was 'Mono Lake' where limestone tufa grows out of the alkaline waters.

You can barely make it out, but there IS actually an Osprey in that picture (which sat still for a 4 minute exposure). However, there are no fish in Mono Lake and the Osprey travel far afield to hunt, still preferring the tufas on which to make their nest.

One thing you don't find in Europe is 'Ghost Towns'. They're everywhere here (with a particularly modern and creepy one not far out of Moab). Towns, that for some reason (usually the plummet after a gold rush) totally abandon everything and leave it to rot. Bodie is one of the most famous (and well preserved) of its type and thus warranted a day (given we were passing anyway).

Once a thriving gold-mining town (named after the prospector that died wintering out at his find) the town now lies abandoned, except for the tourists with cameras. Quite good (although still very eery).

We hadn't completely abandoned the idea of climbing on our journey North, but arriving in Lake Tahoe we were clearly not going to do it there. It rained, and did so for a good few days. We carried on, stopping for dinner ($4.29 ea. Dennys Chilli) and a movie ($3 ea.) in Carson City.

Driving further North (and watching the 'gas' needle plummet with alarming speed) we approached 'Crater Lake' which partly fills a volcanic crater (a caldera lake) and apparently has startlingly blue water. Unfortunately, the rain clouds had set in and we arrived at the rim to see nothing but thick fog. We returned the next morning hoping for better luck and were rewarded with the odd, slightly hazy, glimpse of the lake between large patches of cloud and fog.

The second attempt to climb was somewhat flawed from the outlook. Smith Rock actually featured highly on our agenda, but given its location in Oregon, and the season in which it is 'in', climbing here just didn't fit with any logical schedule.

Regardless, we were going to climb at least one route (before sampling the local huckleberry ice cream on sale at the climbing shop, housed in an original piece of John Wayne studio scenery). A local friend pointed us at the 'Monkey Face', an easy route which features a bolt ladder pitch, a cave, and a tower summit. What should have taken a very short amount of time, dragged on as the party of 3 took their time, all 3 of them re-aiding the ladder pitch instead of simply cleaning and jumarring. It was hot. The ice cream was good. We skipped the local 'Deschutes Brewery' given the fact we were imminently driving.

Time on our visa was rapidly running out ('overstaying' isn't a good idea if you want to get back in again 'easily') meaning that we had to skip the cities of Portland and Seattle and forge a path straight to the border and Squamish itself.

Typically, the border crossing wasn't plain sailing and we were instantly pulled over due to the combination of our British passports and Colorado registered van. Given our vehicle has a fair few dinks and scratches the border police spent a lot of time trying to find hidden panels where you could store anything illegal (I wonder if they checked the foot-wells for turtles? [if you don't understand this reference I suggest buying the current Alpinist]). After finding no such hidden compartments, the sniffer dog was released and was soon stood straddling our engine. Lots of sniffing again caused a fair amount of interest by the border police but nothing was found and we were finally let on our way into Canada, armed with a 6 month visa and a clear forecast.

(If you haven't yet got around to buying the current edition of Alpinist, the previous reference to smuggling Turtles refers to Turtle Mountaineering Co. outside of Squamish. The article describes how the owner used to smuggle turtles from the USA into Canada using the wheel wells of climbers cars as temporary aquariums!)

Washington Column

The season in Yosemite was clearly coming to an end (at least if you had the heat tolerance of a Brit, there still seemed to be plenty of nutty Yanks climbing in the sun). I therefore suggested we use the last vaguely cool day forecast to do 'South Face' of 'Washington Column'. Three amenable pitches to 'Dinner Ledge', which is as far as you have to haul, and then as many more pitches as you feel like, with an ab descent back down the route. Easy.

The walk in felt nice compared to the epic hike up the 'death slabs' to 'Half Dome'. At least for me. Paul was battling the pig again, but given he insists on carrying at least twice as much water as I tell him we need, I let him suffer (at least this time we had sleeping bags).

P1 was Paul's, and some strange combination between free and aid. I wanted P2, a 100ft C1 corner, to practice my aid skills in preparation for all the other routes Paul is scheming to drag me up. Given I haven't been doing trad for all that long (having spent a fair few years simply seconding Paul), my gear placement is not too bad (not mentioning the odd cam which Paul claims is too over cammed to remove). Having said that, an aid pitch where you have to get gear in every metre or so is a bit trickier, especially given the crack in question was pretty thin and fairly flared. It took our 3 offset nuts perfectly, at which point I started to struggle for gear. Best back-clean one of the offsets. Twice. Here I managed to get another wire in, albeit a pretty poor one (note to self: buy offset cams). For the next bit of gear all I could get in was my reclaimed offset, but that was fine, it was great. Reaching high to get the next piece in, I inadvertently loaded said offset in an outward direction and airtime ensued. The poor nut held, above my back-cleaned gear and the ledge. Strong Fail.

Super Topo defines C1 as:

"Easy aid: All placements are bomber. Little danger of falling except through pilot error". 

Oops. Never mind, with a few tips from Paul to bounce test more vigorously (whilst looking AWAY from the piece) and stand up straight to reach higher rather than sticking my bum out (after the fall my gear placements every 2 ft meant I ran out of gear rather quickly) the belay was (eventually) reached.

The remainder of the climbing to 'Dinner Ledge' was uneventful and we decided to call it a night and enjoy our standard wall dinner of tinned cold ravioli. Mmm. My ability to sleep absolutely anywhere serves well on ledges, or it did until Paul shook me awake in the early hours, clearly distressed, mumbling "Coyote Coyote". I was not best pleased on waking up to find a raccoon (or as we're now told, a Ringtail Cat, equally un-coyote like) perched on our empty Modelo Especial cans.

More aid skills dialled. Canada now awaits (the porta-ledge is purchased and we'll return for something BIG later on). Watch this space.

The Leaning Tower

Not everything can be learnt from a book and despite trying before leaving the UK, Nat and I were far from competent big wall or aid climbers. The most common wall used for learning to aid in Yosemite valley is the 'S. Face' of 'Washington Column', but given its (relatively) shallow angle, and extreme popularity, I was far from keen. After that the only 'sensible' option is the 'West Face' of the 'Leaning Tower', which we picked for our inauguration into the realm of BIG.

As you might of gathered from our numerous previous posts, this was unlikely to go perfectly to plan. Walking in on attempt 1 we found gear littered underneath the steep tower, amongst it a shoe (singular) that clearly belonged to a member of the Italian team shedding gear from high up on the wall. Nervously we walked a little quicker in case they accidentally dropped their haul bag to go with the shoe. Rain had delayed our start and really we ought to have amended our plan.

The route starts with an exposed scramble to the base following a fixed line (which we were both glad to see). Navigating the tricky section, a step around a corner (trivial in most cases), the pig started living up to its name. We began the initial bolt ladders and, simply put, took an age. With the light fading and having made insufficient progress (classic jummaring proving a tough ask for Nat in the steep terrain) we bailed, the light disappearing long before we were back to the initial ledge. Abseiling with a pig on terrain this steep was far from easy.

Attempt 2 was short lived. The haul bag was packed and the ritual evening-before Pizza consumed, yet the heat wasn't subsiding. We sat around until 9pm convinced that fading light would mean fading heat. It didn't (we bailed to Tuolumne for the following day).

Attempt 3, this time armed with a 2:1 jummaring rig for Nat, we made better time up the initial pitches and made it to the generously sized Ahwahnee ledge as the sun swooped around onto the West face. Having spent the morning ascending fixed lines, hauling loads far greater than my meagre 55kg frame could hope to manage and pulling on gear amidst a mess of haul lines, daisy chains, fifi hooks and other things I could barely identify only a month earlier, the subject of much hate ("Oinky, the greedy blue pig") hung beside me, anchored twice to the cluster(f*ck) that was my belay and the 2:1 hauling set-up that reputedly "sung like a canary" when it was working well. To me the demented motion of standing up, pushing down and pulling through slack rope felt unnatural and seemingly the set-up "sung" as well as myself (not very well at all).

I think everyone reading this blog is as surprised as I am to be reading (or in my case writing) a blog about a big wall (nay, aid route!) such as this. We've all looked through the old On the Edge (OTE) magazines, seeing the Huber brothers toting garish Lycra on the sun-drenched granite walls of Yosemite Valley and thought WOW. The sheer scale of the walls dwarf anything of European interest and plant that seed of for "one day". That said, the magazines don't convey the sheer work involved to simply 'exist' in such terrain, let alone 'perform' as the Bavarian duo clearly do.

Stepping off Ahwahnee ledge for the crux of the route; a rising diagonal traverse line reached firstly by a short pendulum, a thin seam proved a tricky start until I was sat on a tied-off sling on a rounded horn contemplating the next moves. The seam was now very thin, clearly wouldn't take a nut and my double zero cams were back at the start of the pitch, far out of reach, the only remaining option being a 'cam hook'. Now, I wasn't aware of the 'cam hook' until looking into this type of climbing. Basically it's a curved piece of iron which offers a thin blade to sit in a seam and either cam downwards (for placements underneath a roof), or sideways (in a vertical or semi-vertical slot). The former was applicable here and I fiddled the simplistic device into position and clipped my right daisy and ladder into it. Given the nature of 'cam hooks' they only work under load so can't be bounce tested, nor can they be relied on for protection (they simply fall out when un-weighted).

Gingerly I transferred my weight over and the less than bomber looking piece flexed a little but stayed put. The next move was once again only suitable for cam hooks and my second (and last) hook was placed and once again my weight shifted upon it. It held as I ratcheted up using my adjustable fifi, reaching a stuck offset nut which offered great relief. But only for a brief moment as I was soon stood up high on our only skyhook (A BD grapple) which (thankfully) led to better gear.

Aid climbing might seem to many in the UK as the realm of perverts, enjoyed only by the likes of Andy 'savour an epic' Kirkpatrick (who was currently resident in the valley), boring and lacking skill. However, they (or you) would be wrong. Aid is a definite skill and boils down to a lot more than simply being able to sink in a cam or nut at the appropriate place. Maybe it isn't for everyone, but don't discount it.

Well there we were, still on our Honeymoon, sat on Ahwahnee ledge. The light quickly fading to a view of the stars above, partially obliterated by the overhanging head-wall, tomorrow's challenge, above. Our fixed lines draped up into the darkness. We both fell into a deep slumber earned through much toil and an insufficient intake of calories found only during this type of climbing.

The morning after and the shade of the West face offered a new light to the situation. Progress was rapid ascending the fixed lines from the previous evening. With every step up the previously awkward etriers efficiency increased and the outrageousness of the terrain appeared to justify the constant toil for upward progress. Belays no longer looked like a mess of rope-spaghetti and began to take on some form of organisation; From left to right, myself, the hauling rig and finally the fixed line for my second (although every now and again I expected to catch her getting a lift on top of the pig).

The previously cursed 2:1 pulley system began to sing as the motion became more and more intuitive (partially helped by a small stance on which to haul from and the ever lightening bags), accelerating "oinky" upwards and with him, food, water and progress towards the ever closing summit.

The 'in a day' (IAD) party that had sped up to us as we barely finished breakfast was nowhere to be seen  below us proving our conclusion that actually, we were doing quite well (having to not only climb and clean, but haul as well). One might even use the word 'efficient'.

At 3pm we topped out amidst a strange mix of emotions. Had the toil been worth it? Well, we had enough food (and plenty of water) to savour another night on the spacious summit ledge where a previous ascentionist had kindly left his overstock of beer, which we gratefully enjoyed before falling into a deep slumber with only the awkward descent (with still big bags) to complete the next day.

Tuolumne

Whilst concocting this trip from back in the UK, one of the reasons we chose the US (aside from the fact that neither of us had previously climbed here) was the vast selection of multi-pitch trad routes on offer. As a team, multi pitching works pretty well for us. With Paul leading the majority of pitches in blocks, our respective climbing abilities are brought rather closer together (and with a following wind we can actually be quite fast!). Whilst climbing in the desert, there were definitely times when I felt less like I was seconding routes and more like I was being hauled up them. However, in Yosemite, with the climbing style offered by the smooth granite which the valley is famous for, I was holding my own rather better (or Paul was struggling more). 

This being said, climbing in the valley can feel very stressful at times. Even the shorter 'day routes' often exceed 15 pitches, requiring early starts to beat other slower teams to the punch (a challenge in itself given how hard it is to get Paul to move out of bed in the morning) and often with complex descents. 

With rest days being spent either in the meadow below El Cap gazing up and wondering, or sat in the Curry Village quiet room reading the 'El Cap Report', the 'Big Stone' seems omnipresent, with thoughts of the challenges of bigger routes never far from mind. With an even hotter weather front moving into the valley, making bigger objectives impossible (a fact proven by the lack of climbers on 'the Nose'), it felt like time for a break from the heat and the stress. I'd also been long awaiting the results of my second professional review, which I was absolutely convinced I'd failed. On opening the email in the quiet room, informing me that I'd (somehow) passed, I burst into tears, with many surprised looks and a few congratulations from around the room.

It was time to head up to Tuolumne for a few days of 'easier (and hopefully cooler) life'.

In our haste to start climbing in Tuolumne, we raced up to Cathedral Peak (getting embarrassingly out of breath at the nearly 11,000 foot elevation), only to get stuck behind a depressingly slow guided party (amongst others). We finally topped out and narrowly made it back to the van before an almighty downpour and thunderstorm.

The guidebook isn't kidding when it says that the 'small puffy clouds' seen early morning are indicative of epic thunderstorms in the afternoons, not good when atop the high granite domes. With this in mind, we spend the next few days shamelessly working our way through the less run-out of the 5 star routes in the guide, making it back to the van before the afternoon weather hit.

One such gem was the 'West Cracks' route on 'DAFF Dome' (DAFF = dome across from fairview), a really nice 5.9 with 5 pitches of quality crack climbing, and a great view of Tuolumne on topping out.

The next route on the agenda was 'Regular Route' on 'Fairview Dome' (another Parois tick). With 900ft of climbing to the summit, this seemed a challenge with a high chance of afternoon thunderstorms once again predicted, meaning we needed to top out by 1pm (at the latest). We got an early start and sped up the route (aiding through sections lower down which were still gopping from the snow-melt) with the clouds visibly growing behind us. We somehow managed to be the only team on the route that day, the forecast clearly putting other (more sensible?) parties off. By simul-climbing the top half of the route, we managed to top out just as the thunder started to crack. We quickly coiled our ropes and absolutely sped down the slabby descent, moments before it got soaked by the downpour. A team of photographers who we found atop the dome casually set off after us, in no apparent hurry... clearly unaware of just how slippery a granite slab becomes when wet.

Tuolumne had been a welcome break from 'the Valley', and strangely successful when compared to the comedy of errors that had befallen us earlier on the trip. However, having ticked off our various objectives and with rest-day activities severely limited, we headed back in search of something BIG.