A Classic First Multi Pitch Climb in Yosemite National Park

The distinct roar of a Jetboil cut through the silence of the still Yosemite Valley morning. It was a cool  morning but we were up early to beat the crowds of the day. My buddies, Neil and George, were coiling rope and sorting through the gear we would need for the day as I scarfed down the rest of the ramen and half of a peanut butter banana Clif bar for breakfast.

We left the car and started up the skinny approach trail to our selected route of the day. We had decided to climb the “grack”, a classic easy multi pitch splitter hand crack. We chose this to get used to climbing with three people and two ropes. We were all competent climbers but George and I didn’t have much experience with managing multiple ropes and a full rack of gear while hundreds of feet off the valley floor.

We blew through the first two pitches with no problems but come the third pitch I stated to hit trouble. I was on lead and all of a sudden two huge black bees fly right by me and then swoop around to come hovering right in front of me. Now I am not allergic of bees but I try to avoid interactions with them whenever possible. I started to let out yelps of distress and they continued to come and go always hovering right in front of my face. Neil and George, sat on a thin ledge, about 50 feet below me could contain their laughter as they watched me flail in distress as I tried to climb and simultaneously shoo away the bees. In the moment I found their jeering as really unhelpful but looking back I would have been laughing my ass off if it had been one of them above me.

By the fourth pitch and as Neil ran out of rope he realized that he had blown past the belay station and was now in no mans land. He was too far past the belay to climb down safely and could not keep going without leaving his rope and us. Eventually he found a way to tether himself to the rock and started to belay us up. Sitting at Neil’s belay, which was sketchy at best, we found a kind of off route way to the top. I led a completely different route that they followed and we ended up loosing a number three cam in some flake that is way to the left of the route. It might actually still be there because I’m sure no one else is stupid enough to climb the way I did.

Sitting at the top we realized that we had been holding up traffic as Neil’s route finding put us off course. We were none the less stoked to be at the top and more importantly get down because non of us had brought water and we had been exposed on the hot rock for over two hours.

Tying our two 70 meter ropes together we slung them trough the rappel rings to then rappel down on. The rappel went smoothly. At the ends of our ropes was another rappel station as we were still a hundred or so feet off the deck. Now this rappel station was definitely made for more than two people. There were just two bolts to hang off of on this completely black and sheer face.

The three of us hung awkwardly on these two bolts and as Neil started to to pull one end of the rope to pull it through the rappel rings above us I yelled out “STOP”. We had tied knots in the end of the ropes while at the top so that we wouldn’t slide off the bottom of the ropes had we come close to the ends. I yelled because we hadn’t remembered to untie these knots before pulling the rope through. These knots that we tied would not slip through the rappel rings and we sat there in utter disbelief that we had just made that mistake. The end of the rope with the knot in it sat there about ten feet of us. It was just barely out of reach and we felt like total idiots.

This then prompted the argument of how we were going to get down. We went back and fourth about what we should do. George wanted us to hold him up on our shoulders as he would reach for the rope. That got vetoed immediately as if he had fallen with out catching the rope it could have put so much stress on the bolts were hanging on that it could have ripped them right out of the wall and we all would have fallen to our death.

Hungry, tired, frustrated, sun burnt, and thirsty we sat hanging all alone on the wall. “well what the fuck are we going to do now” said George. That really summed up what we were all thinking in that moment.

There was only one thing to do. That was to wait. The party that were were holding up on our way up was just about level with us and we yelled over to them asking if they could could untie the knot and let it slip through the rings as they got to the top. Again we felt like idiots. Had there not been a party below us Im not sure what we would have done. We might have had to make a swing over to the route and then climb back up to get our rope.

Anyway we sat there for another hour until the knot was untied and out rope came tumbling down on top of us.

Back at the car we were all dead and all we wanted to do was sleep instead of driving five hours home. Finishing the last of our ramen and Mac and cheese we piled in the car and cracked open a can of Rosarita refried beans and tortilla chips for the drive home.

Photos by George Lubekeman

Dear Barney,

As a matter of fact I do have time to tell you about what I’ve been up to. I am currently in the Salt Lake City airport waiting for my delayed flight home, but my story begins long before now. At the beginning of summer three of my best friends and I embarked on a road trip through the western United States. Starting from Mill valley we drove through the night up to northern California, close to Redding. Have bought the baby blue truck pictured in the previous photos I was able to take all of my possessions with me as well as drive on offroad trails through the west.

Hitting dirt that night we searched our map for a place to camp as the dirt road we intended to enter the wilderness on was impassable. We found a spot by a small lake around 1am and bedded down for the night. Waking up in the morning early as the sun rose, we had all underestimated the threat of mosquitoes and heat of the night. There was a constant struggle between being too hot in the sleeping bag and avoiding the relentless mosquitos. We checked our map in the morning, around a breakfast of instant oatmeal, and chose a completely different off road route through the woods up into Oregon. We climbed vigorously up a mountain track until all of a sudden and to our amazement we summited a peak with the most breathtaking view. In the distance you could see mount Shasta to our north. You can see our excitement and awe, in the photo with the snow capped mountain in the background.

Venturing to the top of the mountain we found the fire road gate at the top to be closed. Darn. We rechecked our map and found another way around the mountain. Heading back down the dirt road was much more treacherous and bumpy than coming up. As the grade smoothed out we retraced our steps to the lake and into the small town of Shasta. Finding no drivable dirt roads near us, we reluctantly got on the interstate and motored towards eastern Oregon.

Climbing into the high desert of eastern Oregon the truck felt underpowered and sluggish. The small v6 was struggling on the long mountain passes, and with carrying all of my things I would take with me to college in Montana.

The views were unbeatable. Long stretches of desolate lake side and desert were stunning in the afternoon light. We made good progress towards Idaho, and again referenced our map to find a place to camp. As just graduated high school students with not much money and a longing sense of adventure we intended to find places off the beaten track to camp at night, to avoid site fees.

That night we found another small lake all to ourselves. We were so high in elevation that there was still snow on the hillside and ground. It was the summer solstice that day. The longest day of the year. Having brought my skis with me for the epic winter in Montana I decided to boot up and climb the 50 foot snowy hillside. It was a great hurrah amongst the group and moral in camp that night was high.

The next morning we all were tired but got on the road as quickly as possible. When I say quickly, I mean an hour of mumbling around doing nothing productive and my friends Jt and Jackson arguing about how to pack up Jt’s Tacoma Truck. Back on the dirt road I looked in my side mirror in horror to find my camper shell on the back of my truck half fallen off and bouncing up and down with every bump. The story about the camper shell and its coming is one for another time. Having taken everything out of my truck on the side of the narrow dirt road, we got at the half assed clamps holding it down. Tightening it down with the utmost confidence we continued on. The camper shell would almost fall off another three times throughout the summer.

Back on paved road we set our sights on south western Idaho. “Watch out…turn”! My co pilot and friend Jack would yell through uncontrollable laughter as we approached a turn in the road that had been dead straight for 36 miles.

Through an especially straight portion of the road we stumbles across a vast expanse of sand dunes. Pulling over on the road with no one in sight, we discussed if we should try driving up on it. Testing the sand for the softness and receiving ourselves in the space bushes we decided it would be good fun. Jt, with his bigger and more offload capable truck ventured up first. He barely sunk into the sand and started an epic “Hoon” around the sandy plains. I followed with enthusiasm and found it so much fun trying to slide around on the sand. After a while we became bored and thought it a good idea to get back on the road, and what our luck that we did. Not two minutes later a sheriff in the literal middle of nowhere drove by us on the other side. We were amazed that someone else let alone a cop would be out there.

Crossing the border into Idaho we again searched the map for a place to sleep. At this point we had been on the road long enough for disagreements to arise between cars. One car would have the map and lead and, almost always, the car in the rear would disagree despite having the map in hand.

Crawling into a small town that for the life of me I can not remember we refilled our water containers and raided the local grocery store for snacks. We sat outside gorging ourselves on chips and soda.

Eastern Idaho was beautiful in its own way. Long winding rivers and stunning mountains lined the countryside. I honestly don’t know what the fuss is about with Idaho and flatlands and potatoes. I didn’t see a single potato farm.

Our second debate of the day started on a remote hillside and a narrow red dirt road. Jt with his bigger faster and more capable truck steamed ahead and left us in the dust…literally. Drowning in the dust we came across Jt and Jackson looking at two tire tracks that lead off into the wood. Jt really wanted to go up it as he hadn’t gotten to test out the upgrades to his truck he had done before embarking on the trip. I knew my truck wasn’t high enough off the ground to clear the trail and suggested that we just camp on the hill side for the night. We did exactly that.

We all slept soundly that night each of us with a different form of defense had a Bear or Wolf come through camp. I slept with my trusty pellet gun which I knew would do nothing against and attack. Jt slept with a baseball bat. Jack slept with an axe. And Jackson the smart one slept with bear spray, the only thing that would actually do us any good.

Another morning rose and peeling out ahead of jt, I was able to set the pace on the dirt, and give him the pleasure of dust grit in his teeth.

While writing this I am constantly going back through photos of the trip to jog my memory. Seeing them makes me realize that a whole novel could be written about each of them and I’m excited to write about individual stories in the future.

We wound along the river in Idaho and drove by a place where it must of been hundreds of people parked along the roadside, stopping to fish. I’m still not entirely sure what it was but there must have been some pretty amazing fish. This reminds me. Note. Write about camp went and the bike race and the fishing rod.

We had a schedule to be on. I was signed up for an EMT (Emergency Medical Technician) class at the University of Montana in Missoula, starting on the 26th of June. It was the 23 and we had been ahead of schedule. Arriving in Bozeman, I knew I could check into my housing in the dorms early, but the group decided to spend one more night in the woods. Once again, checking the map, we found a place to camp and set our sights on a place just outside of town called “Deep Creek”. When we arrived we found it to be more of just a “creek” than a “Deep Creek”. Disappointed we funneled our frustration into building a fire. Not realizing how dull our axe had become we spent way too long collecting wood.

Fed up with driving we had switched a few times but I enjoyed every minute of driving. Every corner brought a new gear change and the hills that required third and fourth gear, seemed to drag on for hours on ends. They were excruciating in the moment, knowing the small truck was struggling, but each hill top brought a new vista and moment of excitement.

Driving into town us west coasters had to stop at Dairy Queen to stuff ourselves with hotdogs and ice-cream. Arriving at my dorm and home for the next month I rallied my friends to help me move in. Nine moving boxes, a tool box, skis and boots, two backpacking packs, a bike and all of my worldly belongings crammed into half of an 8×10’ room.

We said our goodbyes and they continued their trip around the west. From Missoula they headed up to Glacier National Park, down to Yellowstone, through Wyoming almost entirely on dirt, down through Utah, Bryce, Arches, and Zion and then through the Nevada desert back to California. They were on the road for almost a month. I’ve tried to get them to write about their experiences because from the brief phone call or facetime I had with them, their trip was sounding even more amazing than mine.

That night they dropped me off, I was really craving Mexican food so I went downtown and got a burrito and Mexican soda. I’ve found that compared to California Mexican food in Montana is subpar at best. I went to sip my glass bottle coke and “clink” the fake part of my front tooth pinged away leaving me in surprise and horror as I was 1,400 miles away from my dentist. It was not a great start to my time alone in Montana.