I've climbed in Yosemite a lot, but "a lot" is very relative. I've climbed a lot compared to your average Joe 5.10 climber, which is what I am. I tried to climb all the major structures, with El Cap being my crowning achievement. The hardmen run up the Capitan like it's nothing, but that will never be me, especially now. Three years ago, I got a new structure: Liberty Cap, courtesy of Jack and Isaac. I'd scrambled to the summit before, but I finally did a wall route up it. What has remained on my list the longest is Mt. Watkins -- the lesser-known third leg of the famed "Valley Triple," which links the three biggest walls in the Valley (along with Half Dome and El Cap)
Dean Potter (RIP) and Timmy O'Neill were the first ones to link these (23h15m), but it was made most famous by Alex Honnold, who soloed them all! He also freed them all with Tommy Caldwell. I believe they are still the only two to free this linkup. The free link-up goes up Free Rider on El Cap, while the regular link-up goes up the Nose.
Mt. Watkins is the second biggest wall in Yosemite. Probably the biggest barrier to doing Watkins is the approach, which is long, hard to follow, and tiring. It's less vertical than Half Dome but takes longer. Plus, the actual route begins atop 500 feet of 4th and mostly 5th-class climbing. What? Why isn't that counted as part of the route? I guess because it's so much easier, goes up brushy ledges, is completely different in character, and frequently has fixed lines. Once at the base of the true route, it is 19 long pitches to the top out.
On paper, it looked like a route I could manage. The hardest pitch was C2. There were a couple of runout pitches, but at a more moderate grade. I had planned to do it with Derek back in 2018 (?), but three things sucked the psych right out of us. The day we arrived in the Valley was the same day Jason Wells and his partner Tim Klein died, falling to the ground from 1000 feet up Free Blast, with a huge fall and a broken rope (so rare) the cause. Second, we got turned back trying to climb the 35-pitch Galactic Hitchhiker on Glacier Point Apron (another structure I still need). Finally, the heat was tremendous, and the South Face of Mt. Watkins is infamous as the hottest wall in the Valley. Instead, Derek and I learned the approach and then hiked up the Snow Creek Falls Trail and cross-country to the summit of Mt. Watkins. Hence, Derek was already invested in this route and was my first choice for a partner.
But Derek wasn't sure. Since moving to Seattle, he hadn't done much trad climbing. His only big wall was Lurking Fear on El Cap when he was 19, and I know that was a very intimidating experience for him. He didn't want to just jug up the wall behind me. If he was going, he had to be ready to contribute. While I was okay to take the bulk of the leading on Lurking Fear, I wanted a strong third partner to add some security. In retrospect, it was harder than it looked, and I'm glad I brought a rope gun. This happens a lot to me in Yosemite. So many of the ratings on the topos seem to be huge sandbags.
Hans was the logical choice for a third for several reasons, but the biggest was that he hadn't climbed Watkins either! This was a huge hole in his illustrious Yosemite resume. He was interested, but scheduling with him can be tough. I wanted to go in early to mid-May, fearing the heat we had the last time. Hans couldn't do it then, but he had his Yosemite house blocked off for his use at the end of May. He argued that the weather isn't always hot then. I decided to risk it. Even if it was smoking hot, Hans would get us up the wall.
Derek knew doing a big wall with Hans Florine wasn't something he could pass up, no matter how ill-prepared he was. To get better prepared, I came up to Washington for some training climbs with him.
Staging Day
I wanted to spend two days on this route, knowing I couldn't do it, especially on-sight, in a day, but Hans, whose license plate says "NOBIVIES", really pushed for a one-day ascent. Guess who won that discussion? Even with Hans as our rope gun, I wanted to hedge our bets. The day before our ascent, Derek and I would hike in to stash gear and water as high as we could, hopefully all the way up the fixed lines.
We left Seattle (I was up there to climb Rainier with him and Sheri) on Tuesday morning (May 27th). We flew to Fresno, rented a car, did some grocery shopping, and drove two hours to Hans' house in West Yosemite. You read that right: Hans owns a house in Yosemite National Park. He claims his house is 23 minutes from El Cap Meadow, where he goes a lot, considering he's now climbed El Cap more than 160 times.
After stowing our groceries, we headed out for a quick view of the Valley and to climb to the top of the Rostrum via the rim-exit route (5.6). After getting our fix of El Cap and Half Dome at the Wawona Tunnel Overlook, we headed back up the hill a bit to the Rostrum parking. Almost immediately, we saw the sign notifying us that the Rostrum was closed for raptors. Bummer. The North Face is such a cool route -- one of the best in Yosemite for sure. We hiked out to the rim and looked at the route we couldn't do. And we didn't see any raptors...
We headed back to make dinner, watch a movie, and hit the sack. Hans didn't arrive until 10:30 that night, but we were already asleep.
The next morning, we were moving a bit slower than I'd originally planned, but it was good to catch up with Hans and get the gear organized. He had two 70-meter ropes for the ascent, one still in the shipping bag. Our rack consisted of doubles to #4 Camalot, stoppers, offsets, and a cam hook. Hans had gotten the beta from friends of his who were working on the Triple, and hence they had climbed Watkins a few times in preparation. In addition to the ropes and the rack, we'd carry in all three of our harnesses, shoes, helmets, belay devices, etc.
Derek and I drove down to the gravel Half Dome parking east of Curry Village and started hiking just past 7 a.m. We hiked to the road to Mirror Lake and then took the trail on the north side of the lake, passed the Snow Creek Falls Trail, to the second bridge, the one that crosses the Merced River (not that big up here, but raging). We didn't cross the bridge but headed east, bushwhacking a bit, trying to find the climber's trail. We weren't too worried about finding the trail yet, as the first thing we needed to do was to get across Snow Creek, which was absolutely raging. To do this, we had to head upstream to find a log upon which to cross. We found the same huge one that has probably been there for decades, and carefully walked across.
Once on the other side, we descended back toward the Merced via more bushwhacking. Once we got near it, we found some cairns and started picking our way east on the very faint, sparsely cairned trail. Many of the cairns that mark this trail are single stones, frequently perched atop logs. We discovered this the last time we approached this face, trying to convince ourselves that we were on route. Derek did almost all the route finding on the way in. He had a great eye for cairns and whenever he'd goslightly wrong, I'd benefit by taking the correct route and not having to backtrack. With our heavy loads, it took 2.5 hours to hike the 4.5 miles into the base of the route. I'd brought a water filter with me, and while I pumped 13 liters of water while battling a swarm of mosquitoes, Derek forged inland in search of the start of the route and to hopefully find fixed lines.
Derek returned just as I finished pumping the water. I would pump furiously and then take a 5-10 second break to swat mosquitoes, sometimes killing five or more in a single swat; they were so dense. Back at the base of the route, we geared up. Sure enough, there were fixed lines. On the first pitch, there was a pair of them. Not knowing the state of the fixed lines, we got out one of our lead lines and decided that I'd lead up, using the fixed lines liberally, but placing gear and being belayed by Derek. We each carried heavy loads, but Derek had the most weight. Derek viewed his ability to carry lots of weight as one of his contributions to the climb, and it didn't go unnoticed by Hans and me. Hans, in particular, was counting on Derek to save his legs from the grueling hiking. Ever since Hans' fall on El Cap, where he broke both of his legs, his right leg has given him chronic pain and limp. But once on a wall, he is still the master.
We laboriously did four pitches of "climbing" up to the start of the South Face proper. We were only using a single jug on the fixed lines and that was problematic in a couple of steep spots. In one spot, while I shuffled a jug up one fixed line, I tied some foothold loops in the other fixed lines in order to aid my ascent. At the top of the fourth pitch, Derek took the lead for the long, 3rd class traverse to the left and up to the very base of the route. We passed a stellar bivy here, getting all the gear up to the very base of the route. It had taken us a little over five hours to get there. We were so excited to finally see the route up close. The low-angled first two pitches didn't look too intimidating, and, in fact, the first half of the route isn't that steep. Our confidence was high.
Here we left both ropes, the rack, climbing shoes, and 11 liters of water. After getting things organized, we started down via rappel. We brought our ascenders down, as we'd need them the next day to reascend the fixed lines, which we'd do without a belay, now that we knew they were solid. I led on the way down, and even though some of the fixed lines were stiff, knotted, and tattered in some places, the descent went smoothly. Once at the base, we stripped off our harnesses and stashed them there, along with our helmets and ascenders. Back at the creek, I pumped two liters for the hike out, and we were off just before being eaten alive by mosquitoes.
We didn't get home until 4 p.m., where we immediately started to rest, hydrate, and eat. When Hans got home, we started our final planning. Negotiating a start time with Hans is fun. He doesn't do round numbers. We started with the premise that we wanted light for the bushwhack portion of the approach, and deemed it was light enough at 5:15 a.m. We worked backwards from there, even allotting 6 minutes from parking the car to starting our hike, to a 3:37 a.m. departure time from Hans' house. We set the alarm for 3:17 a.m. and hit the sack early.
Approach
The next morning, we left the house six minutes behind schedule, and it was Hans's fault! No worries, we'd make it up and more, as our early split predictions were conservative. With light packs, only containing food, clothes, sunscreen, and a liter of water, the hiking was easier. Derek and I were now covering this approach trail for the fifth time (two out-and-backs years apart), and it went the smoothest yet. Without the need to pump water, we were all at the base of the route in about two hours. Another hour later, and all of us were at the base of the route.
Derek and I switched into our climbing shoes, but Hans wouldn't do this until he started leading, which wouldn't be until the upper half. Once the ropes were flaked, we were ready to start. Derek took the first block and started leading at around 7:20 a.m.
Derek's Block (pitches 1-4)
Derek had studied the topo and carved out the first four pitches for himself. He was determined not to just jug the route and figured he could handle these initial pitches. He'd also get his most stressful work done early.
Derek led the first two pitches as a massive simul-climb, with one Micro. The first pitch is 300 feet long and rated 5.2. Derek led that with just a few pieces of gear and went straight into pitch two, which is 250-feet long and rated 5.6/7. Most of that second pitch was easier, thankfully, but with a couple of real climbing sections. When Derek arrived at the top of pitch two, he clipped his rope into the two fixed biners on the bolts and immediately took tension from Hans to be lowered.
Lowered?! Yes, that's right. The route follows a corner that starts 400 feet up a blank slab, on the right side. To avoid this blank section, we climbed the traditional first two pitches and then had to do two diagonal rappels down and right to reach a ledge near that right corner. There is an alternative, which climbs just the first pitch and then tiptoes up a 150-foot, 5.12a friction pitch. This pitch is not aidable in the 5.10 range and requires legit 5.12 slab climbing. Even the teams doing the Triple avoid this pitch because of the difficulty and the time it would take to climb.
Since the two rappels were supposedly 115 feet each, we thought Derek would be able to get lowered down both of them with our 70-meter rope. And we were wrong. We thought this because we'd read that both rappels could easily be done with a 70-meter rope. And we knew that Triple teams do this route with a single 70-meter rope... My conclusion is that perhaps one of our ropes, the one Derek used to lead on, wasn't a 70-meter rope, but a 60-meter rope. Regardless, when Derek was out of rope, with Hans at the upper rappel anchor, Derek wasn't at the belay for pitch 3. Following 70 meters below Hans, I was confused about what was going on. I thought Derek was down on the ledge, but nothing seemed to be happening for a while. After a few minutes, Derek moved on a bit then called "Off belay." I thought he was off belay already, but he was out of rope and though on the ledge, he was not at the anchor and didn't have gear for protection. Hans had to do some shenanigans to tie both ropes together and tie himself in twenty feet from the end of the rope that connected him to me. With that twenty extra feet, Derek was able to get to the belay for pitch 3. There, he could relax and watch the show of getting his teammates to him.
I climbed up, lowering Hans down to the first intermediate rappel anchor, which he reached easily, since it was just 115 feet. He clipped in, and I pulled back the knot between the two ropes and got myself on a double-rope rappel. I rappelled down to Hans while smearing my feet to move diagonally. Once there, we pulled the rope from the upper anchor and did a simul-rappel from this intermediate anchor down to the ledge where Derek awaited us.
Derek was quickly racked and off leading pitch three, rated 5.9 or C1. He moved nicely up the initial 5.7 section and up to a very thin (less than an inch) crack with what looked like no footholds. He aided a few moves here (it didn't look like 5.9 to me) and up to the belay. Hans and I were now on our ascenders. Hans took off first, dragging the second rope behind him. Hans had agreed to allow Derek and me to lead with just a single line, instead of us dragging two lines behind us. This was slightly slower, but gave every advantage to the leader. We didn't want to make things harder on ourselves.
Derek was already leading the fourth pitch when I arrived at the belay. He was moving around a 10d roof, though on a wall that was less than vertical. He had to place a tipped-out #4 here, and when it shifted on him, he caught his breath. Aid climbing is good as long as the gear is solid and doesn't move, but when pieces are marginal, it's a lot scarier. When something shifts or blows, it's the real deal. Derek did well, moving steadily up his last lead, and when the rope was fixed, I went up first, since I'd be taking over the leading.
My Block (pitches 5-8)
Just like Derek, I had reviewed the topo for my best leading chances. While I thought (and still think?) that I could lead any pitch on this route, Hans was by far the fastest, best leader. The next four pitches were a slam dunk for me, as they were 10c or easier, but pitch 9 looked like the crux aid pitch of the route at C2F. This might not have been true, as pitches 13 and 15 looked to be very challenging as well. So, I planned to have Hans take over here, at least for a bit.
I got up to Derek and got off my ascenders, leaving them for Derek from now on. Derek passed me the rack, and I was leading before Hans arrived, ensuring that we didn't have three people at any of these cramped belays. I initially made quick progress up easier ground, but then the climbing got harder, and I pulled out my aider. With a rating of 10c, I had hoped to French Free climb this pitch at the very least, but the rock is so slippery and the piton scars so difficult to grasp securely, that I gave up pretty quickly. I never used two aiders, though. In fact, we only had one full aider and one alpine aider, which was almost always packed in its little pouch. However, I could clip in with my PAS (personal anchor system -- basically a full-strength adjustable daisy chain) and hang from that while moving my aider up.
Of course, things got slower when I switched to aid climbing, but I think the first lead went pretty well. I didn't seem to be that far up when I got to the belay, but my teammates assured me I was at the belay. There was just a single pin, so I added a bomber cam before calling "off belay." Only after fixing the rope did I notice the two bomber bolts to my left. I moved the fixed line over that, and Hans was soon jugging up to me.
I put in a piece or two above the belay but didn't start climbing until Hans got there with the belay. I was quickly away, the climbing was hard once again, though still only 10c. This pitch took me longer. I got to one section that was quite the conundrum: a 10-foot section of wide climbing that curved to the left. I placed a #4 Camalot at the start of this section, but it was too wide above for my second #4. I thought I was going to have to free climb by liebacking up the crack and pasting my feet on the slippery rock. I thought I could do the climbing, but wasn't sure I could hang on to place gear when it pinched down enough.
Just before I was to launch, I took one more look inside the wide crack and found a piton scar big enough to just barely jam in a cam. I tentatively stood on my aid and stretched far to place the second #4, avoiding any scary free climbing. The rest of the pitch was easier. Near the end, I exited to the right onto a really good ledge with two shiny bolts. This route is characterized by lots of good ledges. These are such a mental rest versus hanging belays. I only remember one hanging belay high on the wall, but there are semi-hanging belays at the top of pitches 3, 4, and 5.
Hans joined me quickly, and I started on the route-finding crux: pitch 7. This pitch was rated just 5.8, but there was hardly any gear. I placed three pieces on the entire pitch. Most of the climbing was easy, but with a couple of steep steps. I started right and up for fifty feet or so, finally placing a marginal red 3-cam piece. I wasn't happy about it, but it was all I had. I climbed straight up a steep section and then back to the left, finally placing a solid cam. I continued more to the left, more up, then back a bit to the right to another good ledge and two bolts.
Following on jugs, Hans took a significant fall when that 3-cam piece pulled. I heard the fall but wasn't exactly sure what had happened. When Hans's face emerged near the end of the pitch, he did not look happy. He asked, "Did you know what happened down there?" I said I had heard what sounded like a fall and speculated the piece had pulled. I asked if he was okay. He was, but had a scraped-up elbow. I should have known that piece was bad and should have warned him about jugging on it. He could have then free climbed up it, pulled it, and reversed down a bit until the rope ran straight enough to jug. I need to be a better leader to my partners.
The 8th pitch started with a very hard move in a short corner. I put in a piece and stepped into my aider. The pitch was rated just 5.9, so I left the aider behind and continued. I moved up and left, getting quite runout on maybe 5.7 climbing before getting in some solid gear. The climbing continued in the 5.8/9 range, and I moved steadily up to the giant, sloping Sheraton Watkins.
I clipped in and fixed the line for Hans to jug. Then I sat down. It was so nice to sit for a bit. I took off my climbing shoes. I wouldn't be putting them back on, as I'd switch to my approach shoes while jugging. While pitches 10, 11, and 14 were all 5.9 or easier, I knew once Hans took over, it would be for the duration. We could have switched leaders back and forth, but it is more efficient to do longer blocks, and I definitely wanted Hans leading the final really steep section. The final pitches are burly, 5.10+ pitches, which would be pure aid for me at that point in the climb. Hans would be able to free/French free them three times faster than I. Maybe more.
Hans' Block (pitches 9-19)
Hans took his time switching over to lead. With all of us on the ledge, we ate, drank, and reset for the upper half, which was really the upper 11/19ths. The 9th pitch started with a diagonal 10c crack. Hans placed a #3 Camalot and moved up five feet above it when his foot slipped off the slick granite and he fell! I caught him before he hit anything, but it was a shock to all of us. Hans had already given Derek the speech he gives with every new climbing partner about how he falls sometimes. He wants people belaying him with their full attention and not treat him as a superstar who cannot and will not fall. We all need to belay like this always, regardless of who is leading. We are using the rope for a reason: we might fall.
Hans wasn't too bothered by this but remarked that he was glad he had that #3 in or the fall would have been much worse, as he'd have hit the ledge. He knows all too well the damage that can occur with a ledge fall. Back on, he moved up the tricky pitch, paying close attention to what pieces he needed to leave in order for me to clean efficiently and which pieces he could back-clean and take with him. He led with one rope, like we did, and would for the next traversing pitch, and then we'd switch over to leading while trailing both ropes.
After the 10c section was some 5.11 climbing, which he French freed. That led to some bolts and missing bolts. What looked like a bolt ladder on the topo necessitated some cam hook moves and marginal placements. This was a long pitch and took some time. Once he called off belay, I started up, cleaning the pitch and backclipping Derek's rope to make his jug as easy as possible. I only backclipped Derek's rope into fixed gear where he could lower out. I, on the other hand, had to clean many placements without being able to lower out. The traversing nature of this pitch made this quite difficult, and I used a lot of energy to pull the gear, sometimes swinging sideways on my jugs. This would be a theme for many pitches and wear me down dangerously.
Once at the belay, I fixed the rope for Derek. Hans didn't start leading the next pitch until Derek arrived. I was a bit worried about how Derek would do jugging a pitch that traversed so much, but when his face first appeared, he had a huge grin on his face. He was doing so well and loving it! So high on a huge wall can be very stressful, but Derek looked absolutely relaxed. It was such a relief to me to see that face.
The next pitch was a long (150-foot) traversing pitch rated 5.3 and, after Hans led it, Derek and I both free climbed it on belay. Next was a 5.9 pitch that started with a traverse and then went up. It was only 80 feet long. Hans dragged two ropes on this pitch, and Derek got to jug directly up to the belay, while I was off cleaning the traverse. Hence, Derek got up to Hans first and belayed him as he led the tricky 13th pitch.
This would be the model from here on out. I'd be getting to the belay more and more tired. More out of breath and further behind Derek. So, Derek belayed Hans on the rest of the pitches. I really started to go downhill cleaning this 13th pitch, which traversed left massively. Hans led straight up for twenty feet and then followed a diagonal, incipient crack up and left. He had to use microcams and do a couple of cam hook moves before arriving at a pendulum point. He lowered from there, and tension traversed over to a ledge. He placed some gear here and then climbed further left and free climbed up to the belay.
I lowered Derek out from the belay so that he could once again jug straight up to the belay. Then I tackled the traversing pitch with some difficulty. Hans did a good job of leaving enough gear, where I could jump around each piece before pulling it, but it was still physical, and I was slow. At the pendulum point, I lowered myself across the traverse. I cleaned the piece at the start of the ledge and free climbed left, moving my jugs along the rope as I went until I could weight them again. I arrived at the belay tired and so out of breath. Once at the belay, it took me many minutes before I was breathing normally. This would get worse at each belay above. I had experienced this once before when I became very dehydrated. I had been drinking but could have used a lot more liquid, as could all of us. I think my biggest mistake was that I didn't eat enough, but I don't know for sure what went wrong.
The 14th pitch looked easy on paper, but it also traversed to the left. I think I lowered Derek out again, but I only remember doing this for him once, and I can't remember on which pitch I did this. I do remember that I had a very stressful time cleaning this traverse. The gear went almost completely sideways, so that I had to free climb left, belaying myself, by moving my jugs up the rope, with difficulty. I cleaned the gear and kept free climbing. Eventually, the climbing became too hard for me to free in my approach shoes, and self belay at the same time. I pulled a piece and then fell, taking a tumbling, sideways pendulum fall that left me hanging upside down from my jugs 2000 feet off the ground. Having taken this fall I could understand Hans' chagrin with his fall jugging pitch 7.
While Derek was belaying Hans on the last hard aid traversing pitch, 15th pitch, I watched two climbers rapidly approaching us. These guys were fast! The first person to reach us was Jacob. He and his partner Brant were in the middle of the Triple. They had started the watch at the base of this route just as the route went into the shade at 4 p.m. They'd only been climbing for two hours and caught us after we’d been climbing for 11 hours. Jacob pulled up his rope and fixed it so that his partner could jug. Then he asked, nicely, if he could climb through. Yes, of course, we said, not wanting to impede such a grand feat.
Hans was at the top of a bolt ladder and trying to figure out how to move left with few gear options and hard free climbing. He mentioned this, and Jacob called up, "Oh, you have to dyno for the bush!". There was a smallish tree bush about five feet to the left. Hans immediately responded, "You just blew my onsight!" Laughter ensued. Hans made the move left and then over a roof using a #4 Camalot for protection. Jacob rapidly followed up the bolt ladder as Brant arrived at our ledge and hurriedly put Jacob on belay. I think Brant said the bolt ladder went free at 12c, but our topo showed the free climbing (the crux) taking a different line to the right. Soon, Jacob joined Hans at the top of the 15th pitch, short-fixed the rope for Brant, and climbed on.
I peppered Brant with questions as he belayed Jacob. Apparently, Jacob climbs 5.14 while Brant has only sent 13b trad. Brant looks like Tarzan. All muscle but incredible endurance, obviously. Once his line was fixed, Brant jugged so fast. I was so impressed with his fitness. These two would go on to complete the Triple. When we returned to the Valley in the wee hours of the morning, we saw their headlamps already high on the Nose of El Cap.
The last four pitches of this route are dead vertical, and both Derek and I needed to take brief rests periodically while jugging. I was getting more and more winded and was having difficulty recovering my breath. I don't remember much of pitch 16 or 17, but I know the belay at the top of pitch 17 was a pure hanging belay, and this wore on Derek and me. We were thankful for the kneepads we wore, but our hips were getting very sore from hanging in our harnesses.
Cleaning pitch 18 did me in. I'd jug for as long as I could and then have to rest to recover my breathing. I was hyperventilating. I wouldn't let myself completely recover before I put in another surge. I knew I had to get to the belay so that Hans could start leading the last pitch. I pushed myself hard here. The topo describes the 18th belay as a "great perch." Indeed, it was, and thank goodness, since I'd spend two hours there.
Cramping and the Last Pitch (pitch 19)
As soon as I got to the belay, I told Hans, "I'm in trouble." I couldn't stop hyperventilating. Derek arrived at the belay and they took charge of reracking and organizing the belay. They both took charge of me. I drank some water. I ate the food in my pocket. Both with difficulty because of my hyperventilating. It got really dark just as I arrived at the belay and Hans dug into my pack for my headlamp. Then he attached it to my helmet for me. Derek dug out three GU shots of liquid (not gels) and I downed two of them immediately. They were so good! Both of them turned down the third and I downed that as well. By now I was sitting on our tiny ledge and after twenty minutes I finally wasn't hyperventilating any more.
Hans stayed on the ledge the entire time, not wanting to leave me in distress, but I was doing a lot better. He took off on the final pitch with Derek belaying. I was nearly useless, but my job was to make sure there was slack in both lines and I was able to manage this task, barely. Halfway up Hans' lead, the cramps started. Just like with the hyperventilating I had experienced such horrific cramps only once before. One day on my ride across the US, despite drinking and eating, I cramped worse than I could have imagined, once I finished riding that day. The four hours immediately after that day's riding were agony. Sheri stuffed me full of food and liquids, but we had to wait for my body to get these nutrients into my blood and muscles. It was nightmarish. This was worse.
One pitch from the top of a 2800-foot wall, on a tiny ledge, all my muscles cramped, putting me in agony and freezing our team in a very unfortunate position. My first scream of pain hit Hans' ears and he called down, "Everything okay down there?" He couldn't see us in the inky blackness. Derek called back, simply, "My dad's cramping." Hans climbed on.
For the next hour I writhed in such pain as to be almost unbearable. The worst pain was my quad cramping, but close behind was my first-ever abdominal cramping. My abs cramped so hard that I thought they would burst out of my torso like the creature in Alien. I didn't think I had big enough abdominal muscles to cramp and hurt this badly. I don't have a six pack. At best, I have two pack. And they cramped often on me. When the leg cramps hit, I tried straightening my leg, as that is usually how I can get a cramp to release. It made things worse. I bent my leg, and it was worse, but I found a particular angle that relieved the cramps.
My hands cramped, and I had to open them with my other hand or push them against the rock. My forearms cramped. Neither of these hurt much. My calves cramped. So, just my calves, quads, abs, forearms, and hands. Otherwise, I was fine. I'd get them to release and experience a minute or two without agony, and then they'd strike again.
I thought back to the bike cramps. I drank all we had. I'd eaten 500-700 calories. I knew I just had to wait it out, but I worried that it would be another four hours. I thought to myself, and almost said it, that Derek and Hans should just leave me there. I was clipped in. I couldn't fall. They could go home, sleep, and I'd jug out in the morning. I wanted to say it, but I didn't because I knew with 100% certainty that they weren't going anywhere without me. I felt so bad for ruining this ascent for them. I felt so bad about my weakness. I couldn't push through this like fatigue. Any movement brought on the cramps and the agony. I was stuck, and I was making my partner stuck.
I'd never been in this situation before. Certainly, I've been the weakest partner. I've slowed down the team before. I've needed the help of my partners before. After summit day on both Denali and Aconcagua, I collapsed physically, but both times I had returned to the tent. Derek took care of me both times, but we weren't going anywhere until the morning each time, and each time I was fine in the morning. Here, I was stopping all movement.
I called Hans on my phone, as he was well over the rim, and we couldn't communicate by yelling. I asked if he was okay and safe. I wanted to make sure he wasn't at some horrible perch at the very rim. He said he was fine, but frustrated he couldn't do more for me. Before he had left the ledge, he put a jacket on me and asked if I was chilled. I wasn't. I said I'd call in twenty minutes and hopefully be in better shape.
While I waited for my cramps to stop, I started feeling bad for Derek, stuck standing on this tiny ledge. I was now lying on the ledge, which was really a small, freestanding pillar. I had one arm dangling between the pillar and the wall in a desperate attempt to get comfortable and not cramp. I took up the entire ledge except for a tiny space where Derek could stand. I said, "You should go up." He said, "No way." I said, "There is nothing for you to do here." He said, "I'm not leaving you."
At the end of the twenty minutes, I called Hans. I told him that I thought Derek should join him on top and he agreed. He thought the two of them could rig up a pulley system, using the Micros that we brought, to haul me to the top. We agreed on that plan. Derek took off and I continued to rest, trying not to move at all, as any movement brought cramps. I decided to stay as still as possible and see if I cramped after Derek got to the top. Derek said he'd call when he got up there.
I'd sent a text message to Sheri and Renee when I first started having trouble. I just told them that we were okay, but stalled one pitch from the top. Everything was okay and we'd be up soon, I lied.
I rested and rested. Then I got concerned that Derek hadn't called. He should have been up by now. Then I remembered that my phone went into do-not-disturb mode and wouldn't have rung. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and noticed I'd missed six calls from Derek. Just then, it rang. Derek and Hans explained they had a plan but would need twenty minutes or so to rig things. I tried to move and cramped again, but I decided to wait twenty more minutes and see where I was at.
Hans didn't find the final anchor, at the rim, on his final lead, but he found the three bolts quickly when he went to rig the hauling system. Darkness didn't help. But he found them, and they rigged a system. I first knew of this when Hans rapped back down. He stopped 25 feet above me, out of rope to go down any further, as they were using the same rope he rappelled on in their hauling scheme. It was now time for me to move. It was time to discover if I could move.
I stood up without cramps. Amazing. I readied my jugs. Checked everything twice. Cleaned the belay and started up the free-hanging line. I didn't cramp. I moved slowly and steadily up to Hans. He had clipped my line into a bolt to hold it closer to the wall for easier jugging, but now I had to jump around it. I pulled off my top jug, now only attached to the rope by my bottom jug, something I'd done many times on the ascent, and tried to reattach it above the bolt. I was having a bit of trouble, but I was up to Hans at this point. He pressed on my back to keep me against the wall, reached over, and gently helped my jug back onto the rope.
We continued up, and Hans called up to Derek, "Derek, the hauling is working great, but you're hauling me to the top! Wait a sec, and I'll move it to your dad." I didn't really need it at this point, but there was no point in hauling Hans, and they had put much work into this system, so I wanted to see how it worked. As soon as Hans clipped the loaded Micro to my harness and Derek started hauling, I shot up the line. Normally, for each movement of the jug, I'd sag back down 4-6 inches, just with my harness movement. Now, I didn't go down a millimeter, and jugging was easy. If I paused with my jugging effort, doing nothing, I still went up! It was awesome. Derek was using a 3:1 hauling system and pulling for all he was worth. With all the gear on, I was between 180 and 190 pounds. Yet, Derek was rocketing me to the top.
I met Derek at the lip. He was clipped into the anchor bolts, but I didn't stop here. I continued up, still with my jugs on the rope as my line led all the way back to a sturdy tree, fifty feet further. I got up there and was finally able to unrope. To strip off my harness. I felt such love and gratitude towards my partners. I hugged them both. I told them that I loved them.
Hike Out
We packed up our loads, and I even took a good amount of weight, but Derek took the bulk of it. Hans had a small pack, but it was loaded with the densest gear. We first had to hike 900 vertical feet up to the summit of Mt. Watkins. This felt similar to the slabs on Half Dome, as the angle was the same for the first 500 feet. It eased after that. I trailed my companions but was getting stronger.
Once on top, Derek picked up a faint trail and used that and his GPS watch and/or phone to guide us out 2.5 miles to the Tioga Pass road. We descended from the summit but then had to climb 600 more feet before we hit the road. There, we found Steve "Shipoopi" Schneider waiting for us. He had a table and chairs set up, lit by lights. It looked like an aid station in an ultramarathon. I thought we'd just tap lightly on his van to wake him up, then pile in and be gone. He said his dog heard us coming and gave him a chance to get ready. We drank water and Gatorade and ate some food. Steve set off a firework that spiraled up into the sky. I was worried about starting a forest fire, but it was completely out while still going up.
I peppered Steve with questions about his vast climbing resume on the hour-long drive back to the Valley. Steve had done the second ascent of the fear-fest Bachar-Yerian (11b with 50-foot runouts). He called it "the worst day of my life." He later put up a much safer (and harder) route in the same area, calling it Shipoopi (12a). He raved about it so much that Shipoopi is now his nickname. He was the first person to solo the Nose in a day. The first time he met Hans was when Hans walked up to him and asked if he'd like to team up to set the Nose record. Their first climb together was a record-breaking 8-hour ascent.
On the drive, Hans experienced the worst leg cramps of his life. I commiserated. All of us experienced hand and arm cramping. My condition was extreme, but the ascent was hard on us all. I'm sure we all needed more water and salty food. But it would have been tough to carry that much more water. Or we should have climbed faster or more efficiently, though I don't think I can improve on that much. If I went back, without a rope gun, I'd need two days at least. If I could even do it.
I'd finally climbed Mt. Watkins...with more than a little help from my friend and my son. It's amazing what can be done with the right partners, and I have the right partners...at least while they'll still rope up with me.
