Do Hard Things: Everesting Flagstaff

Strava

Why do this? It’s sort of stupid. That said, I suspect most people who read this already get it. But I understand the

majority must think this is just dumb. If I wanted to do something hard, why not try the LA Freeway again?

Or run an ultramarathon? Why go up and down the same little hill, regardless of how great a climb Flagstaff is?

I ran my one and only 100-miler because I hung out with the wrong crowd and eventually wanted to know if I

could finish one. It’s the same here. I’d been aware of “Everesting” for quite some time because of some friends.

I wondered if I could do it. I put it on my bucket list to try eventually, and this was that eventually. 

My previous elevation record was 23,931 vertical feet at the Running Up For Air near Salt Lake City in 2019.

It was in February, and the course was completely covered in snow. You might think the snow would make this

feat harder, but for me, the snow was key. It cushioned the descent and saved my knees. On dry ground, these

days, my limit is 10,000 feet of descending. The bike was my only option, as the descents are free. On foot, the

descents sometimes are as hard as the ascents. Then, I sort of disdained doing laps on something to “Everest.”

One friend told me that I had to do it that way to be a true Everest. I poo poo-ed that idea and vowed to do my

own thing, riding all the great climbs around Boulder instead. That was ignorance talking. I’ve made that mistake

before. I didn’t know what I was talking about. Riding around would be cool, but that would be much harder.

This was going to be at my very limit, so I needed to make it as easy as possible.

Picking the right hill is key, and I don’t know that I nailed it, but I’m happy with my choice. I tried Super Gross

and did 15,000 vertical feet. I concluded it was too steep, too muscularly-intensive, and the climbs were so long.

I needed more frequent breaks and a gentler angle. Of course, if you get the angle too gentle, you’re going to be

doing a giant amount of mileage. This is where hiking would be so much better…except for the descending.

Flagstaff is quite steep for the first 300 vertical feet, but then it is such a nice angle. Plus, the road is cool with

some nice switchbacks and great views. And it is an absolute gas to descend! 

But the real key to doing laps on one hill is that I could stash all the food and water I’d need at the base. If I were going to make it, I needed to stay on top of water, food, and electrolytes— something I’m not known for. For this ride, I set a timer on my phone to go off every 10 minutes to remind myself to take a drink. After each lap, I’d get off my bike, refill my bottle, refill a tiny snack in my jersey pocket, then sit for a bit and eat and rest. At first, these stops were short, but sometimes I took a nice break. I couldn’t delay too long, though, since my rate of climbing didn’t give me enough cushion to rest more.

I got up at 1 a.m. and drove to the Gregory Canyon Trailhead. I planned to ride my gravel bike in the dark since I had a dynamo hub (thanks to Ryan Franz), which powered an LED light. When it got light, I’d switch to my road bike. At the trailhead, I noticed that the cable connecting my hub to my light was cut. How stupid of me not to check this. Our garage has been a mess with the remodeling we're doing, and I think all the movement of my bikes must have broken it. I sent my mechanic (Ryan Franz) an email at 1:50 a.m.: “Emergency repair needed!” For some reason, I stuck with the gravel bike in the dark. I think I wanted to change body positions a bit, and maybe that would help. I had brought a headlamp just in case, so I rode with my headlamp but had no real light or flasher. Thankfully, not a single car passed me on my first six laps.

On my first or second lap, I passed an ultrarunner (I assumed because of the running pack) running down the road. When I passed her again, on my way down, I was shocked at the brightness of the light she had pointing backward. There is no chance you'd hit her, since you have to run away from the light. I was nearly blinded coming by her. This was much brighter than a car headlight. I'd never seen anything like it.

On a couple of these early laps, I looked above me on the slope and saw two red eyes watching me. It was too dark to tell what kind of animal it was, but I like to think it was a mountain lion. I wondered if it would pounce upon me from above and, if it did, would I stand a chance of fending it off? In a fair fight, I'm confident I could take a lion, but with a dirty trick sneak attack...I wasn't so sure. So, I kept a watch for those beady eyes.

Descending on my third lap, my headlamp blinked and then went into the lowest power. It was about to die. I made it back to the car before it completely died. There, I had a power brick and figured to just plug it into the brick and, with a long cable, put the brick in my jersey pocket and keep riding. Except that the headlamp will not turn on when it is charging! I sat in my car for 40 minutes while it charged to one bar. I then made sure to ride in the lowest setting, and it got to daylight.

I did all of these dark laps without a helmet since it was a pain to have the headlamp and helmet on my head. It worked, but it bugged me. I tried to be cautious on the descent, knowing that a crash without a helmet…could be catastrophic. 

Once it got light out, I noticed a guy setting up a toprope on Capstan Rock. He worked on self-belay for a couple of laps. On my third time by, he was packing up, and I asked, "How'd it go?" He said he couldn't get the crux. I asked how hard and he said, "5.10/V1". I told him I was a climber, and he hiked up the hill to talk more with me as I wrapped around the rock. He asked my name (his was Tristan Brewer), and when I responded, he said, "I know of you!" He mentioned the Yellow Spur, I think, and specifically my Flagstaff/Monkey Traverse linkups. That was cool. 

Also, on an early lap, I found four young people playing soccer across the entire road. So strange, but they were nice and just kicking the ball back and forth between them. I rode through the group and said to the girl on the downhill side, "You're the key person. If that ball gets by you, it's going a long way." I regretted not taking a photo of them, and they were gone by the time I descended. 

Coming down on my sixth lap, I spotted Sheri parked at Panorama Point and called out, “I’ll be right back. Switching bikes.” At the car, I checked my email and saw that Ryan Franz responded. He said, “Just seeing this (about my broken cable) now. It will be fixed before tonight.” So cool. So, I didn’t need to worry about the night riding. Also, it put additional pressure on me not to quit when it got dark. If he’s going to do this for me, I better ride the dang bike.

Ben Perdue rode up, and he joined me for lap seven. We had to stop at Sheri's car, though, so that I could eat one of the breakfast burritos she brought me. I ate the second one on lap nine and finished the hashbrowns on lap ten. I was trying not to eat too much at a time, but to eat every lap and a bit while riding too. 

Coming down on lap 9, I passed Danny and The Little Monster ascending near the top. They swung around and descended after me. After my restock at the car, they rode lap ten with me. Little did we know that, just as we started up the hill, Ryan Franz arrived and saw us leave. He went up to my vehicle and fixed the broken wire, and was gone before we got back down. A couple of laps later, while getting water out of the bike, I looked at my hub and thought, “What the?! The cable doesn’t look broken now...” Then I realized what had to have happened. I checked my phone and saw the email from Ryan. That is so incredibly cool! On his lunch break, he comes out to fix me up. 

Danny and Ryan took off after lap ten, and then my phone died. I plugged it into my car port and did a lap, and the phone was still dead. Bummer. I tried an inverter and it did charge the phone, but only to 25% in the time it took me to do one lap. I used it more frugally after that. Without my phone, Sheri couldn't find me or communicate with me. It was not a big deal but a minor annoyance. 

Lap 11 was tough. I had my first and only doubts here. Lap 12 was tough, too. I think because it was sunny and the heat sapped me. I tried to remind myself that on ultra-long adventures, I go through highs and lows. Sure enough, I got stronger after that and felt really good on lap 15. 

On lap 16, I got a huge psychological boost from Colin, Emma, and their baby Orion showing up at Panorama Point. Colin gave me electrolytes and cold water. Orion is so cute -- already burning bright. Then, while talking to these three, Haley pulls in. She had driven out (after doing Longs, of course), solely to give me a Coke and offer her encouragement. It's so cool that these four just came out to give me a boost. Energized, I moved on.

At my car after lap 16, Frozone rode up with his shirt all unbuttoned, a la Tony (and later John Alcorn). All the cool guys dress like this. I couldn't pull that off. He rode lap 17 with me, after he'd already done a scramble. Then he went scrambling again and would later return. I wasn't the only one recreating all day. It rained on us descending, but it was just a drizzle and felt good. I rode lap 18 alone, and it was really blustery. It made the lap harder, riding into a headwind, but it was just this one lap. 

On lap 19, I stopped at Panorama Point because Sheri brought me a Starbucks Frappuccino and a cheese danish. I ate the entire Danish, but it would take three laps to finish the frap. Once I hit 19,035 feet, I thought to myself, “Sweet! Only 10,000 feet to go.” And I thought, “What the heck am I saying? 10,000 feet! That’s like riding Haleakala!”

When I came down off of lap 19, I saw John Alcorn, Maury, and Rush waiting to ride with me. I made a quick turnaround at the car, knowing they were waiting on me. We headed up, chatting away. I heard from Danny that John was coming, and Rush said he’d be out for a lap at some point, but Maury was a surprise. He said, “I needed to come out and see what this craziness looks like.” It didn’t look crazy. Just a group of friends casually riding up Flagstaff. It was so nice to have buddies for these laps. Good conversations helped pass the vertical effort nicely. It was cool riding a lap with the two fastest Diamond soloists! Maury took the record from Dean Potter, and then John took it from Maury. It is so cool counting these superstars as my friends. Just past the Flagstaff House, former Tour de Flatirons champion David Kennedy rode up to us. It was so cool to have so much support from so many friends. 

I ripped the descent, trying to show these studs that even though I couldn’t go uphill very fast, I had some cycling skills. Stupid ego. I went pretty hard and even passed a car on the inside on a switchback. I used to pass cars all the time on the descent, but that’s generally ultra aggressive, not smart, and probably drivers thought I was a dick. But this pass was legit. Throughout the entire descent, I heard a rider on my tail, and I couldn't shake him. I figured it was John Alcorn based on the sound of his hub, but I knew he wasn’t wearing a helmet. That’s pretty risky. I wouldn’t do that. But, then again, he’s soloed the Diamond. His level of acceptable risk and mine are not the same. I turned up Gregory Canyon Road at speed and a bit wide, but John went wider and sprinted up the road to the car. Nice. We shared the joy of ripping that descent. 

Moments after we got to my car, Sheri arrived with a Cosmo’s pizza. Rush, John, and David had to go, but Maury was up for another lap.  Lap 21.

Maury descended Chapman, and I rode down alone. I took a longish break at the car, giving kudos to my friends’ Strava activities about riding with me. And then, up rode Frozone and Pilot Bill. Sweet. That was just the kick I needed to get back on the bike. I was off the back a bit on lap 22, but still turning the pedals. When we turned onto the Gregory Canyon Road after descending, I could see a rider up the road ready to go. I was thinking it must be Stefan because I was expecting him at one point, but it was the Little Monster back for more laps. Sweet. Frozone had to go, but Bill and Monster did lap 23 with me. On the way down, we screamed by Stefan (riding a single speed!) and another rider as they ascended. Of course, they immediately turned around and descended. They were out there to help me. That’s so cool

Back at the car, I found out the other rider was Hammerin’ Hank Aaron Lucas. This guy is the classic Boulder dad crusher. He does everything at what would be an elite level anywhere else besides Boulder. Of course, he climbs 5.12. I mean, isn’t that the entry grade around here? And he’s super strong on the bike. And Stefan… nothing needs to be said there. It was dark now, and we all rode with lights. Ryan’s light mount broke or something, but this guy doesn’t miss a beat. He went back to his car and came back a minute later with the light taped to his bars. And it was seriously bright. What a great group for lap 24. At the turn-around, we stopped briefly so that I could put on my helmet. I rode up each time without my helmet on since wearing it all day would have hurt my head. Stefan commented on how the weather was perfect and what a great night to be riding. In fact, the weather was nearly perfect all day. Except for those few laps in the middle, where the sun beat down, it was ideal. The cloud cover really helped. 

Stefan had to go after one lap, as he had work obligations early the next morning. If he hadn’t, I’m sure he would have ridden with me to the finish, no matter what that time was. I was pleasantly surprised that Aaron and Ryan were in for another lap. That would be Ryan’s third lap in a row and fourth overall. So that was lap 25. I thought I’d be riding four laps alone and in the dark, but it was now down to three.

Once down, Aaron took off, and Ryan headed to his car to pack up, I assumed, but he came back with his bike, saying, “I’ll ride the steep part with you.” Of course, he did the entire lap. But he also had to work the next day, and all good things must come to an end. At the end of lap 26, I hugged and thanked him. What great friends I have. I hope I don’t take them for granted. I often think about how lucky I am, but on a day like today… I get emotional. 

I took a break in the car. Two laps to go. My phone had died on the previous lap but was now recharged. I noticed a text from Sheri asking what lap I was on. She sent that at 8:46 p.m. I responded at 11:15 p.m. I responded, but she was sleeping. I had 2.5 hours to get my last two laps done in under 24 hours. I'd make it unless something went wrong. I had feared the onset of cramps all day long, but it never happened. Derek gave me salt tablets, and I'd taken maybe ten of them in the last 20 hours. Eating and drinking a ton helped too. The last couple of descents were chilly, so I took a shell with me for the final two laps. 

Lap 27 went fine, but putting on my shell was a bit of a challenge. When my wheel stops moving, my light stops shining. In complete darkness, it's tough to even clip into my pedals as I can't see them. It took me a while to realize my jacket was inside out. I couldn't use my phone as a light because I needed my hands. Yes, this is an argument for riding with a headlamp as well. On my final descent, I was reminding myself not to make any mistakes. The day had gone so perfectly. I had no mechanical issues (besides the wire fixed by Ryan). I didn't even have to add air in my tires. I did lube my road bike once. Police lights were flashing at the lot just above the Flagstaff House...maybe just to move along the people parked there. I think you can't park overnight there. 

I did a bit of extra vertical on laps 27 and 28 because I couldn't see my overall vertical any longer. When I switched my bike computer over from my road bike to my gravel bike, I inadvertently took a split. Afterwards, I could only see the vertical for the split, which was zero. There must have been a way to see the total vertical, but it wasn't on any of my screens, and I didn't want to mess with it. I knew I was right around 21,800 feet when I took the split, so I needed at least 7,200 on the new display. I did 7,400 just to be sure. 

Shout out to the Coros bike computer, by the way. Coros is known for its incredibly long battery life on its watches, but this bike computer is another level. You never need to charge it. What? You say. This bike computer is solar powered, and the panel doesn't seem to take up any display space. Maybe the display itself is a solar panel. I was a little worried that it would die on me since I was doing so much of this ride in the dark, but no. I've had this computer for a year. I've charged it once. It's magic.

I got home, showered, and crawled into bed just past 2 a.m., after being up for 25 hours. The next morning, Sheri and I went out to breakfast, and it was delicious! But, I ate/drank so much that I don’t think I ran a calorie deficit. I did so well with fueling that I robbed myself of pigging out! But I’ll trade that for not cramping any day. I’m shocked that I haven’t cramped at all. Frequently, the cramps hit me after I’m done with an adventure. It’s a lesson we’ve all learned many times and frequently need to relearn. But for a lot of adventures, running a huge calorie deficit can’t be avoided. But here, with a literal carload of food and water available every hour, there is no excuse not to do things right. Strava says I burned over 10,000 calories doing this. I haven't added up all that I ate and drank, but it might be close to that.

I think most cool feats have come about because someone thought, “I wonder if I could…”

My buddy Hans Florine has a motto and even a website for it. I liked it so much that each semester I urge my students to:

Do Hard Things!

North Face of Notch Peak: Book of Saturdays

 Book of Saturday on the North Face of Notch Peak

Strava

Photos

I used to drive out to Yosemite in my RV and spend the first week of June in the Valley. Here's the route I took:

Zooming in on the western edge of Utah, we see this:

This is the north face of Notch Peak:

That's all any climber needs to see to want to climb it. When I first saw it, I had no idea what it was. Some research yielded the name (Notch Peak) and the elevation (9658 feet), and finally a route: Book of Saturday (12 pitches, 11a). I've been dreaming of climbing it ever since, for at least a couple of decades. The guidebook says this north face is "reputedly the biggest limestone wall in the Lower 48 states...if the elevation of the approach and the lower wall is included, the relief is 800 meters." Yowza! Just the Book of Saturday is over 1300 feet tall.

The route is described as runout and loose, but the biggest runouts were on 5.8/9 terrain, and the 5.10 and above was supposedly well-protected. It sounded like a route I could manage, but, like on Watkins, I recruited some insurance: Jared Campbell. 

Like Hans, this guy is a world-class adventurer athlete. Though not as famous in the climbing realm, Jared got his start there, sending sport climbs up to 5.13. He moved on to trad climbing and huge link-ups (Grand Traverse, Evolution Traverse), where he discovered his ultra-endurance. He went on to win Hard Rock (one of the hardest 100-mile runs in the world) and finished the infamous Barkley Marathon (look it up) four times (more than anyone else at the time). He's done his own version of Badwater, which travels 135 miles from Death Valley to the summit of Mt. Whitney. Only he went over the summit of Telescope Peak, making a ridiculous challenge much harder. His prowess in technical, committing climbing/scrambling/canyoneering routes in Zion is almost beyond belief. He told me about descending Kolob Canyon in the middle of winter, where he'd rappel into pool after pool that had a 3/4" layer of ice on top. The ice didn't support his weight, so after rappelling into the pool, he had to swim across it, breaking the surface ice as he went. He told about how a throwing error resulted in their essential 200-foot rope sinking to the bottom of one of these pools. He had to repeatedly dive down to attempt to retrieve it, getting hypothermic in the process. Why do this canyon in winter? Because it wasn't hard enough in summer! 

I'd climbed with Jared just once before, when we did Squawstruck, a 22-pitch 5.11 route in Provo. My buddy Mark Oveson set up this blind date for me. I'd known about Jared for a long time. I'd been jealous of my friend Buzz, who'd done many adventures with him. Jared and I hit it off enough that he was game for Book of Saturday. He'd already seen the route but not climbed it. What? He had climbed Western Hardman (5.11) on the lower wall and linked that into La Fin du Monde (5.10) for a 21-pitch tour de force. Afterwards, they rappelled Book of Saturday to get back to the base and their vehicle.

I discovered there was a hiking trail off the backside of this peak and thought it would be cool to climb the face and then, instead of rappelling, just hike down the other side. Unfortunately, to do this involves a significant car shuttle. But I had a plan for that, too. I'd recruit Mark to come out with us. While Jared and I climbed the face, Mark would drive around to the other side, hike in, and meet us on top. I still think this is a good plan, but after my trouble on Watkins, I scaled back my ambition to just climbing the route as easily as possible. Jared had even suggested rappelling in, and after first resisting, I relented. 

The Plan

I didn't want to take a 70-meter rope if we didn't need it, but my 60-meter rope needed replacing. A quick trip to Neptune's solved that problem:

For the second rappel line, we brought my 7mm, 60-meter, ultra-stiff, static line that had been recommended to me for Patagonia by Chris Weidner. This is a specialty rope if there ever was one. It is only useful as a second rappel rope. It has two key qualities. First, it is small and light. Second, it is incredibly stiff. When coiled, you can hold one end of the coil and the rope sticks straight out, holding shape. Normally, I hate this, as it makes the rope difficult to handle, but the idea is that when rappelling, you pull down your other rope first. This stiff line is the one that rockets down the face, and the stiffness prevents it from wrapping around any protrusions. Or getting tangled in your other line. In this regard, it works very well.

For a rack, we brought my double set of ultra-lights to #1 Camalots (all used at some point), stoppers (never placed), 20 slings, half alpine, half sport (about right).

I drove out Friday morning, stopping at the Ghost Rock Rest Area to bag Ghost Rock West, and met Mark and his 11-year-old boys, Jason and Spencer, at the Ashton Burger Barn (recommended!) in Delta, Utah. This was an 8.5-hour drive for me, and there was still an hour of driving left to get to the trailhead. After dinner, Mark went to a hotel with the boys, and I waited for Jared, who arrived at 8 p.m. He grabbed dinner to go at a burrito place, and we drove out to the trailhead.

After packing for the next day, we hit the sack (me in the bed of Jared's Tundra and he in the rooftop, pop-up tent) at 10 p.m. with alarms set for 3:45 a.m.

The Climb

We were off the next morning a little after 4 a.m. We had allocated two hours for the approach (3.7 miles, 2400 vertical feet), gearing up, and starting our rappels. We then figured it would be two more hours before we were down to the base and starting to lead back up. We stuck to this schedule almost exactly. Before dropping in, I sent a message to Sheri and talked to Mark on the phone (we had great reception on the trail, but no coverage once on the face). Jared was in shorts the whole day, while I wore long pants for the approach and the climb, mainly for protection from the sharp limestone.

The 10 rappels (we combined pitches twice on the way down) were intimidating, but went smoothly with one snag of the stiff rope on the first rappel. Jared led the way, and I was thankful for that. I figured he'd already been down these rappels once before and had a better chance of locating each station. He did an expert job. We had to laboriously rethread our stiff line each time, so that it was always the last to fall, but all went well.

The weather report for Delta was a high of 89 degrees, and you'd think it might be too hot to climb, but that is not the case. If anything, I was chilled on the wall. Until we topped out, we were never in the sun. Book of Saturday sees no sun, maybe ever. Even in the photo above, our route follows the line of shadow from bottom to top. We had near-perfect temps, though I'd have been happy with it being 5-10 degrees warmer or having less wind. It wasn't very windy, but the breeze made it a bit chillier. 

I'd scoped out the topo, noticing the crux was the 5.11 second pitch. Wanting to do my part and swing leads, I suggested I'd take the odd pitches. This would give me three 5.10 leads. It didn't go that way, but I did take the first lead. I had the larger pack and stuffed the stiff rappel line into it. It wasn't that heavy, but it wasn't that light, so I carried Jared's pack on the first pitch, a steep 5.10 pitch.

While this route supposedly has 100 bolts on it, at least 35 of them are at the belays. That leaves 65 bolts in 1300 feet of climbing or, on average, a bolt every twenty feet. That's a sizeable average runout. Hence, the rack. I question this number, too. The topo shows 7 bolts on the 100+ foot first pitch. I don't recall that many. I placed as much gear as I could, and it was generally well protected, but it was steep, and I got really pumped. I didn't fall off, but I nearly did at one point. All winter long, I told myself I was training for Watkins and Notch Peak and I was reasonably strong at the end of April. But now, more than a month later, I hadn't been in the gym since. I was disappointed with my fitness. 

It took me a while to lead the first pitch, but I only got patience and encouragement from below. Jared followed smoothly and quickly transitioned into leading the crux pitch. From the belay, the pitch looked reasonable. I didn't realize how steep it was until I followed it. Or how bad some of the holds were. Jared climbed methodically up the pitch, making it look like there was a rest after every move. How deceptive! There were a couple of nice rest opportunities, but I pulled on a draw at the lower crux and had to hang on the rope (my only taints of the ascent) at the overhanging finish of the pitch.

The next pitch was only rated 5.6, but in my pumped state, it seemed more like 5.8 at the start. It lay back higher up, but then entered a gully with lots of loose rock, and I moved extremely carefully so that I didn't knock anything down on Jared. 

Pitch four started with a crack in a corner and was the best pitch yet, with the best rock so far. The rock quality is a huge factor in the ambiance of this route. There is still plenty of choss and loose rock on this route, but nearly all of it looks like it will break. Getting used to pulling on holds that appear to be barely attached was something I never really got used to. I'd bang on holds repeatedly, seeing no movement at all, but still not believing I wouldn't pull it off. When massively runout, using holds like this is terrifying. It made us appreciate the rare sections where the rock looked solid.

Pitch five was rated 5.8 and had just three bolts in 130 feet. I got in supplemental gear along the way, but the crux is at the very end and comes well above the last bolt. Steep climbing led to slightly less steep terrain, just as the holds got very rounded and slick. I finished maybe twenty feet above the bolt and a bit rattled. 

Jared wanted to climb pitch 6 (5.7, 80 feet) with pitch 7 (5.9, 60 feet). It sounded eminently reasonable, but turned out to be a mistake. First, the 5.7 was more like 5.9 and a bit runout. Second, because of the lack of bolts, Jared got off route to the right. He went up and down for a bit, concerned about climbing himself into a deeper hole. On this route, it is essential that you stay on route. If you get off route, there is no guarantee you'll be able to find protection or be able to set up a belay. We had to find each belay station.

Jared eventually downclimbed a bit and made a hard traverse to the left before going up, placing some gear, and eventually getting to the belay, where he continued into the next pitch. This went fine at the start, but he continued above a bolt where he should have gone straight left, again. He later said that a look at the guidebook would have been helpful:

Instead of traversing at the bolt, Jared continued straight up. The climbing was challenging, and he placed a couple of pieces of gear, climbing twenty feet above the belay. He called down to me the situation, and I commented that he'd pulled out more than enough rope to reach the second belay. This forced him to look around a bit more, and he spotted the belay. I took him on tension and lowered him, and he swung over to the belay. He also brought the trail rope over with him... I think. Because by the time I got there, the rope ran directly to the belay, and his gear was still in the rock, up and right. 

I benefited from both of Jared's mistakes, climbing on the correct line. I was surprised at the difficulty and serious nature of the "5.7" pitch. The 5.9 pitch was better protected, though with a heads-up traverse.

In Jared's defense, the belay wasn't visible to the left, and it was unobvious to go that way.

The next pitch was rated 10c. I wasn't supposed to be leading this pitch. The linking had gotten us off my sequence. I deferred the lead, and Jared eagerly accepted the sharp end once again. The pitch started with what we hoped was the crux. Jared styled it, and I did well there also. While climbing this part, Jared was telling me about an Eastern European friend of his, who, when pumped, would call down to Jared, mid-lead, and say, "Jared! I am so hard right now!" He was referring to his forearms, but he knew how it sounded to the nearby climbers. Once through the lower crux, Jared moved on but not before saying, "Bill, I am so hard right now."

Above, out of sight, the rope moved slowly. And this was a very long pitch (160'). Eventually, it was my turn, and once through the lower section, I climbed above a bulge and saw this vast expanse of nearly featureless orange limestone. I recalled this section when we were rappelling down. I thought it looked scary then, and my opinion hadn't changed. I remember thinking, "I don't want to lead this pitch, whichever it is." I stood there for quite a while, trying to find anything that would aid my ascent. Jared eventually even called down to check on me. This prompted me to try the minuscule holds. I inched upwards, one improbable move after another. I was appalled at the distance between the bolts -- at least twenty feet. I imagined doing the thinnest move, where I was sure I'd fall, while 15 feet above the last bolt. I wouldn't have done it. This was the one pitch on the route where I'm pretty sure I couldn't/wouldn't lead it. 

Jared would later acknowledge the serious nature of the pitch, but seemed more comfortable with the prospect of a fall. This is a terrible place to take a fall of any length. First, if you scraped against the wall, the limestone would chew you up. Second, the rock is so questionable that falling against it might dislodge rocks that tumble down towards your belayer. It was a ballsy lead by Jared.

At the belay, we discussed the remaining pitches. I'd already skipped a lead, but with two 5.10s and two easier pitches remaining, it made more sense for me to take the easy ones. This is the danger of climbing with a rope gun. It's so easy to defer to the stronger climber. He'd have let me take any pitch I wanted. Jared wasn't pressuring me to give him the harder pitches so that we could top out sooner. It was all up to me, and I once again chose the easy way out.

Jared led the super fun 10a 9th pitch, which we both agreed was the best pitch on the route. It was well protected, for a change, had relatively good rock, and lots of variety and interesting moves going over a roof or two. I led the 10th pitch (5.7, 100 feet), which was quite runout, and had to trust holds that sounded and felt solid but looked terrible. I dispatched this pitch pretty quickly and belayed at an uncomfortable V-dihedral with just a couple of footholds. My feet were killing me, and I'd take off my shoes here.

Jared then led the last hard pitch. It was another long one (150 feet on the topo, 55 meters in the description) and rated 10b. He climbed up to a steep thin section, clipping a couple of bolts along the way. He hesitated here for quite a bit. Enough to get me nervous about my prospects of climbing it clean. I knew the pitch was long, and if I fell that low on the pitch, the rope would stretch quite a bit. I'd have to climb it over again completely if I fell. 

Our topo said to move left at the third bolt, and Jared, conscious of what happened the last time he didn't do this, traversed left. He placed some gear and then couldn't find the route. He probed around for quite a while before moving back to the right above the gear he placed, not finding any bolts. We were bewildered at the bolting strategy. The easier 9th pitch was well bolted. This harder 11th pitch was very runout. Yes, he found and placed gear, but even that was widely spaced, and without a bolt, there was no confirmation he was even on the right line. He continued on 5.10 ground, turned a roof, protected by gear, and eventually found more bolts. The pitch ended with more of the micro-hold, orange limestone climbing that had given me so much trouble on pitch 8. It was easier here (5.9), and I trusted my feet more on the micro-edges that seemed to dig into the rubber on my shoes.

When I arrived at the belay, we heard Mark call from above! We were one 80-foot, 5.8 pitch from the top and could hear him clearly. He and his boys had already been to the summit and were ready for us with a pack full of snacks. Jared and I wondered what treats they had hauled up there. Mark once brought me a popsicle high in the Flatirons on a really hot day. This was a much longer approach, but I wondered what crazy goodies he and his boys had hauled up here.

The last pitch went fine. Runout in spots, but had three bolts and I found them all, supplementing the gaps with gear. I tested each hold and moved methodically (read: slowly). I didn't want to make any mistakes this close to the finish. Mark was leaning over the edge, trying to take some photos, and made me a touch nervous. I knew how loose things were. He was being careful, though, and didn't get too close to the edge. I clipped the final anchors and put Jared on belay. He soon joined me. Book of Saturday was complete!

The Hike Out

Even before I could get my shoes off, Mark was passing me treats. First, it was a bottle of grape Powerade with one for Jared as well. Then it was a bag of chips and a sleeve of donuts (Mark knows this is my favorite food). Then, out came a mini watermelon! With spoons. Then, in something only Mark would think of, he pulled out three pints of Häagen-Dazs ice cream! And it was still frozen! How could that be? Mark had carried up seven pounds of dry ice! Where do you even get that? The grocery store, apparently. He brought it up in a soft-sided cooler. Why three pints? We couldn't possibly eat all that. Well, he had to bring a pint of coffee ice cream because he knew it was my favorite. But then he had to bring another pint because neither he nor his boys liked coffee ice cream. So, why the third pint? Because Mark doesn't stop at the amazing. He has to go over the top. He can't just give flawless, incredible support. Maybe some other great friend could do that. He has to do something so over the top that no one else would ever do it. 

Mark's boys were so friendly, so excited for us, so happy to be there, and proud that they had done a hard hike and that "it was easy" for them. They took part in all the goodies as well. And I'm sure I'm forgetting plenty more of the snacks (add them in please, Mark). While Jared and I hiked the last 200 vertical feet to the summit, Mark and his boys got a head start on the descent. My gear was still strewn all around, and I told Mark, "Do NOT take any climbing gear." I knew he'd go over the top again if I didn't say that, but he had a full load with all the snacks that we didn't eat. Plus, I'd already given Jason my pack from the climb with just the stiff rope in it.

We tagged the top, took photos, and returned to our gear. I looked for the rack. Jared, did you take the rack? Nope. Dammit, Mark. We packed and hustled down, catching the team. I confirmed that Mark had the rack and chastised him. He responded, "Oh, I thought you said, 'DO take the rack' ". Typical. Jared eventually ended up with the pack that I'd given to Jason, which Mark had taken from him already, so that Jared ended up carrying about everything. 

I'm so thankful and so grateful for these great friends. Once again, I only achieved my goals by having such strong, giving partners. When I first did Nose-in-a-Day, I was adamant about not doing it with Hans, knowing what would happen (and did happen when I eventually did climb it with him). Now, instead of shunning such strong partners, I seek them out. I still strive and plan to do my share, but in these last two adventures, I didn't. Will these two still climb with me in the future, knowing the burden that I am? We'll see, but Jared was already talking about linking up the lower face to the upper one on Notch Peak. With him, anything is possible, but if I do come back, I'm coming straight from a season in the gym!

South Face of Mt. Watkins

Strava -- Stashing Gear

Strava -- South Face

Photos

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.