35 Things in 35 Years

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1)As a child I used to wheel my red wagon into the living room with a pillow and a blanket and lie in it to watch cartoons.

2)I was probably around 5 and maybe it was my birthday. My mom and I went to visit her sister, my aunt Leslie, who was living close to LSU. She gave me a pair of blue roller-skates. They reminded me of Montgomery “Good News” Moose from the Get Along Gang.  He wore a blue turtleneck, yellow pants and brown loafers and was an excellent athlete.

3)My dad and I used to horse around a lot. My mom would always say, “It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.”

4)My dad and I climbed the Magnolia tree in our front yard. He was way up towards the top and I wanted to go there, too. The branch I was on broke and I fell, hitting the bottom branch on my back and flipping over landing face first on the ground. My mom looked on in horror.

5)We had another Magnolia tree, which was taller. I always wanted to climb it, I never did.

6)I spent a lot of time in the small town of Donaldsonville, LA. My mother was born and raised there. My grandparents and two sets of great grandparents lived there. They potty trained me and taught me to talk. As kids my cousins and I used to play by the bayou, run through our Paw-paws garden, eat loads of boiled seafood, collected pecans and drank tiny cokes out of green glass bottles.

7)My Poppa, whose name was Ed Bahry, was Lebanese. He owned a record store which specialized in R&B. This is where I first learned about race relations.

8)My parents divorced when I was around 10. This was the first time my father could be openly gay.

9)He moved across the street from us, I thought this was the best thing ever.

10)When I was 12 my cousin Shawn died in the hospital after being in a terrible car accident on River Road. She had been driving, she was 15.

11)I was raised in a Catholic School. We had nuns as teachers. My dad’s homosexuality was in direct conflict with what I had been taught at school. This marked the start of my departure from organized religion and a move towards trying to understand what it really means to be oneself and about acceptance of differences.

12)My parents were great together. They were cool, loving and had fun. I know it was hard for them but they did their best.

13)I was a good tennis player but an even better runner. I ran track until I started hanging out with the kids who smoked pot.

14)I went to a public high school much to the disappointment of my mother. It was a magnet art’s and science school. I studied theater there.

15)The summer I was 15 I learned to rock climb at a camp in North Carolina. My life would be forever changed.

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16)I went to a lot of raves and took a lot of LSD. At the start of my junior year in high school I ran away from home. I left a note for my parents apologizing and leading them to believe I had joined a commune in Texas.

17)In reality I was slumming it on the floor of an Iranian exchange student. Her name was Layla. She was beautiful, she was Muslim and she was a stripper. She found out I had Catholic Lebanese blood and she kicked me out.

18)I worked the graveyard shift at a chicken shack. It was a terrible job.

19)I homeschooled myself via Correspondence Courses and earned my high school diploma from Baton Rouge Magnet High when I was 18.

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20)My dad lived in New Orleans through my high school and college years. I developed an intimate relationship with that city. Weekends and summers were spent there. I went to my first Gay bars with my dad, had my first alcohol called a Separator. I wore low-top Dr.Marten’s and we always went to Tower Records. I frequented late night coffee houses, had numerous snow cones from Plum Street Snow Cone, and learned what a Gutter Punk was. As I got older I saw a lot of music there, learned where the best Pizza by the slice was, had too many beignets and road the street car from Uptown to Downtown more times than I could ever recall.

21)I weaseled my way into a better job at a college bookstore. I worked there for 6 years before being fired for failing to return from a trip to Venezuela.

22)I started to rock climb more on the weekends and holidays. The closest place was a tiny crag in Alabama called Sandrock. My friends and I built a climbing gym in their garage. I was always “training” for Yosemite.

23)When I was 20 I was driving home from visiting my dad in New Orleans. I came upon 3 puppies in the middle of River Road. I gave away two of them and named the other one Sidney in honor of Sid Vicious. I had her for 9 years, she was the best dog a girl could know.

24)I had a housemate named Allison. She was funny. We lived together just off of River Road. She was from the small town of Gonzales. In 2007 she passed away from an infection. I think of her all the time.

25)My dad moved to NYC; we traveled to London together and accidentally got lost in the Red Light District. He opened up the world to me in many ways.

26)I moved to Austin, TX two weeks after I graduated from LSU. I ate a lot of Mexican food, bought cool clothes and spent a lot of money. I lived there a couple of years and did a lot of climbing on Texas and Mexican limestone. I worked at the climbing gym, I coached the youth team. We took a winter trip to Hueco Tanks. I decided I needed to pursue a life more centered around rock climbing.

27)I packed my truck with all I could fit and drove to Yosemite. I had a job working for the NPS in the Valley campgrounds. On a July 4th weekend I was pulled over around 2am after working a night-time Bear Roving shift. I failed to come to a complete stop on a right hand turn at a stop sign. They arrested me for .2 grams of weed in the form of a roach. It had been sitting in the ashtray, illuminated by their flashlights. I spent the night in jail, I wore an orange jumpsuit with blue tennis shoes. I was cuffed and then locked in a cold, white cell. They made me feel like a bad person.

28)I lost my job with the NPS. It was a true blessing in disguise. I worked for the Yosemite Association in the visitor center, then I worked for Ken Yager and the Yosemite Climbing Association. We put together an awesome museum exhibit. I did a lot more rock climbing.

29)I met Surfer Bob – he taught me how to climb Offwidths. I bought a pair of La Sportiva Kaukulators. I met Ron Kauk one winter day at the Cookie while I was putting on those blue suede shoes. We became best friends.

30)Ron taught me how to climb on hard, technical granite. He showed me the importance of good footwork and how to move with confidence. In 2009 we created a youth based non-profit called Sacred Rok.

31)In the late spring of 2010 I almost fell off the side of El Cap and died. I walked away with two broken ribs, a partially torn left MCL, a concussion and 17 stitches to the head as well as many bruises and a deathly fear of wet slabs.

32)I met Ben Ditto that spring.

33)In 2012 we got married at Rock Creek. Our wedding looked a lot like a Who’s Who of Rock Climbing. We spent our honeymoon in the Cirque of the Unclimbable’s. I gained an affinity for wet cracks and learned how much of a brat I can be.

34)Ben has also taught me a lot about climbing. More than I can really say actually. Since 2010 we have spent a little over a year in total climbing in Europe. One could be so lucky to have gone to places like Ceuse, St.Leger, Gorge du Tarn, Freyer, The Verdon Gorge, Chateauvert, Siurana, Montsant, Terradetts, Oliana, Col de Nargo, Rodellar, Picos de Europa, Poo, Cicera, and where we currently are – Chulilla.

35)Its nearing the end of 2014. I am 35 years old. We live in a van in the Sierra. We have a storage unit in Bishop and a PO box in Yosemite. I work for Sacred Rok and Eddie Bauer but we spend most of our time rock climbing. We travel a lot. Sometimes I feel hiraeth. I love my life, it’s always been different, there have always been social norms looming around but I still seem to keep living on the fringe.

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El Topo an Epic

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Ben and I have been climbing around the Verdon for about a month and a half. In that time we have done some really good, steep, tufa cragging as well as a good deal of multipitch and technical, typical Verdon style climbing. One of the long routes that has my interest is a line called “El Topo.” Originally established in 1981 with a grade of A2 6b+ the 14 pitch journey now goes free at 8a. Although all of the pitches have been free climbed at one time or another, the route has never really seen a single push free ascent (a team of two Brits free climbed the route wall style this past August, but they did jug out towards the top and ventured into town for baguettes before rapping back down to complete the route.) Thus, my interest is piqued at the prospect of really giving this bad boy a go in a push and Ben has very willingly signed up.

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We decided to give it a go on the Sunday before a week of rain was forecast. We figured the grand effort would have us tired out and appreciative of the rainy day rest days. Instead of partying with the rest of the locals Saturday night we went home, made dinner and packed everything for the next days excursion. Ben took a picture of the route with his iPhone as well as the neighboring routes to prevent any confusion. We even packed a small, telescoping stick clip, just in case. We felt prepared and super psyched.

We arrived at the Gorge around 7am, it was exceptionally cold on this November morning. We decided to rappel with the tag line and the lead line and since we would be hauling a small pack we kept our coats and socks and shoes on. We made three long rappels to a small pillar, we would either rappel down another couple of hundred meters or stop short after two more rappels and start climbing a pitch 5. We pulled and threaded the ropes as we talked about it deciding to make the call when got to the last big ledge a little ways below us. As I placed the ropes through my ATC and pulled in the slack my hand hit Ben’s hand, the iPhone has was holding went flying out of grasp through the air. We stared on, mouths agape as it flop-flopped through space, smacking the next ledge below and continuing it’s summersault out of view. We looked at each other in disbelief, there went the iPhone and the topo, too!

I felt bad and somehow responsible as well as a little concerned about the route finding that lay ahead. We disguised it briefly and then continued on with the rappelling. Our effort would not be thwarted by this mishap. I rapped down to the next ledge, this marks the start of the 2nd pitch of Les Marches du Temps. We had climbed this with French friend Jeff Arnoldi just a couple of weeks prior. The route has been great but I was excited to be on our way to trying something different and harder.

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I arrived at the ledge and noticed a guidebook off and to the left, misplaced in some bushes and teetering on a small ledge. I had hopes that we could get the topo after all. As Ben descended towards me I told about the book and he made his way to it, climbing over trees and under bushes, through loose rocks before being able to retrieve it. Sadly, though, this book seemed to have been lost for some time as it was hard as a rock and could hardly be opened. The pages ripped apart as Ben tried to pry them open and eventually discarded the dead weight and continued with our rappelling.

Ben made one long rap about 55 meters down to the ledge that marked the start of the 5th pitch of “El Topo” I watched as he rapped over the lip, his ropes catching in two small bushes. I didn’t really like the looks of those bushes and thought that we should probably be going to the right of them, but, I wasn’t sure where the next anchor would be and decided to make the call once I was over the lip and could see below better. A few minute later he yelled that he was off and I shoved the ropes into my ATC. I made my way to the bushes with that initial feeling of needing to go to the right, but I could see down to where Ben was and he was positioned more to the left which meant that the ropes might get stuck if they were draped to the right ad dragging through the bushes. Abandoning my instinct to go around to the right I tried to clear them to their left. I shook my head as I passed them feeling that we might be in for a weird pull. On my way down I noticed an anchor halfway down and had the thought that we should be stopping there but looked down another 25 meters to Ben below and kept rapping down.

When I got to the ledge I realized that the anchor was to the far right and that it was totally arbitrary where we positioned ourselves on the ledge. I had a bad feeling about the ropes upon this realization and commented that this pull might be difficult. We started to pull the red tag line and it moved about 5 feet before stopping. We pulled and pulled and nothing. We tried to pull the green lead line, nothing. Ben walked to the far left and pulled – nothing. We both got on the rope together using our weight to help the scenario and nothing. Neither side would budge and after 15 minutes of this we realized that we were indeed stuck there with hardly any rope left to do anything with. We were at a juncture where there were no climbs which led out of this spot except to the far right where “El Topo” snaked its way up a subtle arete – but this did not help our situation. Above us loomed two roofs with huge bowls carved out of the rock in which the ropes were completely free hanging. To the left were choosy crack systems which led to no mans land. The ground remained about 150 meters below. The only way out would be to prusik up the ropes to our last rappel anchor.

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I was annoyed at myself for ignoring my instinct because I felt certain the knot was stuck on those puny bushes. Ben felt the knot was caught on the lip, but my recollection of the lip was that it was fairly featureless save for a few bumps of rock here and there. I commented again that I had feeling about those bushes and that we would have been better off going to the right or at least stopping short that way it would’t be so far to get back up. But neither of those things mattered anymore and all that need to happen was to ascend the ropes.

Kicking myself for this huge waste of time I proceeded to set up to prusik up the ropes. With two cords – one being Ben’s chalk bag cord and the other being extra tat for hauling our bag I ascended the two ropes back up the 55 meters to the anchor. It started off awkwardly and slow but about 15 meters up I finally fell into a decent rhythm and started making outstanding time of less than a meter a minute! At that rate it was as if I could see the leaves changing color with the fall weather. As I dangled and prusiked and spun around in space I thought about the Yosemite pioneers and their impressive feats on El Cap with their archaic gear. I thought of that iconic picture of Bill Price prusiking his way up El Cap – I couldn’t imagine doing that for numerous pitches over numerous days and while I felt satisfied with our self-rescue capabilities I also felt like a true bumbler as I fumbled with my cords to slide them up our stuck ropes.

I finally reached the anchor we has passed and fixed the lines there so Ben could start to ascend as well. Then I kept going the last 20 meters to where the ropes were caught, as I got closer I saw our simple over hand knot caught beneath a branch of the bush no bigger than an inch in diameter – this partially dead thing was all that stood between us and the ability to pull or lines. Now, though this knot posed a different situation in that I needed to get my prusiks to the other side of it. This was a little complex and spooky but passed without much of a hitch and soon enough I was up at the anchor – tired, relieved, and a bit disappointed because we had lost a fair amount of time and we would be pushing the limit if we decided to continue with our original plan.

Once Ben arrived at the anchor we made the call to climb out on Les Marches du Temps and for the second time around we suffered in the heat of the low, fall, sun on sharp crimps, water pockets and small feet. The misery of the situation sent me further into a grumpy mood and no matter how hard Ben tried to cheer me up I sank deeper into dismay. Luckily the climbing on Les Marches is no harder than 7a and we ascended the pitches quickly. Somewhere around pitch 7 as I followed I heard a whizzing coming by and looked up just in time to see something the size of a softball fall a ways behind me and crash into the wall below before exploding into pieces. I yelled up, “What the *uck was that?” To which Ben responded solemnly, “My power paste.” He had dropped his homemade energy paste – another casualty of the day. It seemed like we would be lucky to get out of there without losing more possessions.

We topped out around 2:30 just as the intensity of the sun was making us a little delirious. It was hard to say what the underlying reason(s) were that thwarted our attempt that day – was it the unseen powers of the universe telling us no in order to save us from some bigger blunder? Had the dropping of the iPhone with the topo been the first warning to abort mission? And once we ignored it the ropes got stuck to further dis-sway us? Or was it just bad luck, and bad judgment and we were due for learning some lessons? Either way we didn’t get to do what we set out to do but we didn’t die trying and I learned (once again) to go with my instinct and in the end we are more curious and psyched to try “El Topo” than ever. So after these many days of downpour we are hoping to get back out there and try our luck again.

Sorry there are no pictures of the mini-epic but the phone got dropped!

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Sierra Sojourn

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Broken wings. photo Ben Ditto

I started to cringe with each step, steeper and more angled than the previous. The weight of my pack and the events of the day were starting to wear on me and my ankle was getting sore. I was walking differently to compensate for the discomfort and then finally, feet hit flat ground and we were in the home stretch back to the truck. As I dropped my heavy, not so heavy burden to the ground and commenced to follow suit I looked up at Patrick with a smile, the words “Thanks for a great day” spilling from my mouth.

Six months prior I had fallen at the Buttermilks and landed with one foot squarely on the pads, the other crookedly in the hole between the pads. Upon impact my talus cracked in two places. For a minute there, after popping it back into place, I managed to convince myself it was fine. In reality it would be two months of disuse followed by months of rehab. At the time this seemed exceptionally cruel as we had just returned from spending a fall and winter traveling and climbing in Spain.  I had red pointed my first 5.14 as well as numerous other memorable routes and I was feeling strong and psyched.

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China Crisis, 5.14a; Oliana, SP photo: Manabu Yoneyama

We returned to Bishop in February and I hit the ground running. There were a few problems on my mind at the Buttermilks and I went after them almost immediately. I was rewarded with quick ascents and as exciting as that was I was also starting to feel a little confused. I went out climbing even on days I really didn’t feel like climbing and I questioned what my motivation was. I was starting to not feel present and just at the height of that feeling I broke my ankle. It was as if the universe was telling me I needed to sit down and get grounded again.

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Just another day, just another problem. Buttermilks; Bishop, CA photo: POD

No one ever really told me how badly broken bones hurt, or how they go through a range of pain or how the mental and emotional self also hurt. I can safely say one thing I learned is that healing hurts – almost more than the break itself.  For days I could hardly get out of bed, the discomfort coupled with the amount of energy it took to drag myself around were just too much. I watched movies, I read, I wrote, I cried, and I slept.  Despite the pain I never filled my prescription for Percocet – I just endured and winced with the waves of discomfort. I never filled it because I was afraid of it, because I knew I would fall into a depression as the time wore on and if I had those pills I would probably find myself down a very dark hole.

I’m a very physical person – at times in my life one could equate my happiness with my activity level. I have always been this way. I love nothing more than trying hard, pushing myself, sweating and feeling the deep burn. I enjoy my body and using it to it’s utmost capacity. This being my first broken bone I was afraid of the down time, afraid of not expressing myself physically, afraid, afraid, afraid. Some days were better than others and I grew a lot as an individual during that time.  I reflected on what things are important to me and what I came up with was an array of things but at the top of the list was health. I went on to take this apart and ask myself what about health is important, is achievable, am I working with currently and how could I continue to work with that in the longterm?

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Seasonal foods, fresh foods, whole foods. Tomatoes keep you cool in the summer!

The work I do with Sacred Rok as camp cook has pushed me into a realm of being responsible for not only my own diet but the diet of many youth and mentors/adults. I cook seasonal foods, organic foods, local foods, whole foods – basically real food. Being an athlete I also want to know what is the most nutritious and beneficial way I can eat for performance. These two things coupled together with the down time of recovery pushed me to enroll in graduate school for a masters in Holistic Nutrition. I’m a few months into the program and I’m loving every bit of it. It’s pushed me further to consider each thing we put into our bodies.

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Organic, local and free!

After a few weeks of being broken I started to get creative with my exercise. Unable to walk or put weight on my right leg I resorted to a lot of floor exercise – like one leg push-ups, ice-bucket lifts with one arm, countless ab work outs, I even started to strap weights to my legs to do leg lifts, and then I entered into a serious hangboard program. I eased into it and always followed suit with push-ups, wrist curls and other oppositional training. Having trained on the board for years I quickly arrived at the point were I was ready to start training max strength. This involved a series of different repeater exercises with added weight as well as pull-ups with weight. It also involved one arm hangs and one arm pull-ups – these involved taking weight off until I could do a pull-up unassisted. It helped structure my time and give me direction even though it seemed like I would possibly peak in my fitness at a time when I wouldn’t even really be climbing. I did it anyway.

One from the archives - hangboarding in El Portal. photo Jeff Johnson

One from the archives – hangboarding in El Portal. photo Jeff Johnson

Before I knew it it was time to start using my foot again. I developed a program to recovery that included physical therapy, pilates, bike riding and some strength training for climbing. I went to physical therapy twice a week from April until June at the Bishop Physical Therapy Clinic. I worked with 2 PT’s who really helped push me and get me back on track to an even stronger me. They helped strengthen and stabilize my ankle, my foot, my toes, my calf and both hips. It’s amazing to me how once a person starts to pay more attention to their body they start to realize other imbalances and weaknesses. For sometime now I have been going to see Mary Devore at the Bishop Yoga and Pilates Studio. She has been my primary body worker and through her excruciatingly healing touch has helped show me certain problem areas in my body. Stuff that’s been there probably since infancy and accumulated throughout the dramas of life. During my rehab time she taught me how to use the Pilates Reformer. Originally this contraption was referred to as The Universal Reformer because it “universally reforms the body.” It works the small stabilizing muscles as well as a deep core and it also helps to align the body. This marvelous machine has done more to balance me out than anything else. In wanting to train strength I could think of no better resource than Ian Nielson at Mammoth Strength. He is not only a great friend but also a great coach and very knowledgable about the body and how it works. He helped me understand how to structure a training week as well as establishing exercises on the gymnastic rings, hang board and systems board. I worked some with him through my recovery and once I was climbing again.

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Ian and his “Whip you into Shape” shop

 

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Stretching it out on the systems wall photo: Mammoth Strength

 

During my rehab time I also gave in to a long standing desire to own a road bike. For many years I have wanted one but substituted my mountain bike tires for road wheels – it worked for a while but with rehab as a good excuse I bought myself the sexiest, fastest bike I could afford.

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I took some intro rides around the Owens Valley and became better acquainted with two super fun and super rad Bishop locals who were also in the rehab process: Trish McGuire and Christie McIntire. Together we rode through some beautiful places and reveled in our bodies abilities to heal and strengthen.

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The day we poached the pass! Tioga Rd, CA

 

As I got stronger on the bike I took on longer, harder rides solo. The top two being riding to Glacier Point and riding the whole Tioga Pass from Lee Vining to Tuolumne. They were both hard, both alpine starts and entirely worth it.

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The reward of my effort. Dawn from Glacier Point

 

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Looking down Olmsted Canyon toward the Valley.

 

Sometime in May I was able to start climbing again. I took it incredibly slow, only top roping for about a month and not really climbing anything too hard.  Even though I had been training and was feeling strong it felt weird when I started to move on rock again.I wasn’t breathing and I was guarding my movements; things weren’t flowing freely. Thankfully 18 years of climbing have given me a good foundation and I was back to feeling natural and confident on the rock within a couple of weeks. My psyche was high – I felt more motivated, more positive and more appreciative of climbing than ever. I took the opportunity to tick some classics, revive some long forgotten gems and just enjoy myself.

At the start of July I had been leading for about a month and was eager to get into some long valley routes. In scouring the guidebook for things I hadn’t done I came across some lines that had been forgotten to the lichen. I ventured out trying some of these and found a bag of mixed results. Certain unnamed routes should be left in the past and certain other unnamed routes are “c’est incroyable” and will be getting some more attention from me in the future.  I also came upon the fact that I had never climbed the Chouinard-Herbert.

On a hot July 4th Christina Freschl and I left El Portal in the dark, the crickets still owned the air time as the birds hadn’t quite come out of their slumber. We arrived at the Four Mile trail parking just as the cool blue light of morning greeted the Valley. Marching up the Sentinel approach I felt lucky to be able to walk up there, much less climb the route. My ankle had been healing perfectly and this day would be a great test.

The route was amazing and was quite the trip into the past. The climbing went quickly and we beat the sun to the summit. Partnering with Christina was perfect for this endeavor – she is efficient, tough as nails and really good energy to be around. We had a marvelous day out on this old-school classic.

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Psyched as ever on the Chouinard-Herbert! photo Christina Freschl.

As the summer heat rose I migrated to the High Country. For the last 8 or so summers I have been fortunate to do a lot of climbing in Tuolumne. Some might say I have climbed it out, but that just isn’t true. There are some newer, obscure routes that beckon me – one of which was Mikey Schafer’s Night Shift. In mid July Christina and I made an ascent of  this test piece and wow what a route! Anyone intrigued by this line better bring their A-game in the tech-ten department – mentally and physically.

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Night Shift, 5.12; Tuolumne Meadows, CA photo: Christina Freschl

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High up on the Venturi Effect, 5.12d; The Incredible Hulk, CA. photo Ben Ditto

For the past few summers I have been making ventures into the Hulk. Last year after climbing the Venturi Effect I got psyched on the other hard lines, one in particular called Solar Flare. If anyone is familiar with this wall, then you will know the bright orange sun spot on the left side of the formation. The Sunspot Dihedral climbs the right side of this “sun spot” while Solar Flare climbs the left arete of it.  In late July Ian Nielson and I went in for a couple of days to try our hands at Solar Flare. It is a stunning route. I believe actually at one point while digging deep on the 12d crux pitch slab arete I yelled, “Holy shit, this is like Eat your heart out Mikey Schafer.” Needless to say it was hard, techy, physical and at times cryptic. I fucking loved it! Ian was a great partner and while neither of us made a full free ascent we had a great time, did some stellar climbing and got inspired to go back.

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The Incredible Hulk

 

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The 12b pitch on Solar Flare, 5.12d; The Incredible Hulk, CA photo Ian Nielson

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Last year my friend and frequent partner Patrick O’Donnell and I discussed doing the Hading Route on Conness.  By August of this summer it had been in the works for a year. I had made it a goal to be feeling as fit as ever for this endeavor since it consists of a 4 mile hike in and back out, a 1200ft climb and an elevation of 12,600ft. My training, my bike riding, all of my climbing as well as the trip to the Hulk had me feeling pretty fit and the mission was a great success. The route was amazing, the location sublime and I never felt stronger at elevation than then.

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This route, although easier, felt similar in character to the Chouinard-Herbert. Much of that sentiment stems from how historical both routes are as well as the ancient fixed gear that gives a glimpse into a bygone era. The old YC stamped pins in the CH with the some of the original bongs made such an enjoyable trip down a historical path. As I led my way up the notorious 5th pitch of The Harding Route on Conness I felt similar appreciation for the old bolts. They are old Star Drives and the hangers are original Harding chopped piton, hole punched, ring hangers. They are amazing little pieces of art. My appreciation stemmed not from desperately wanting to clip them but from an admiration of the story that played itself out on this Alpine rock. To think of Harding out there, drilling those bolts, groveling through the squeeze chimneys with his hammer dangling made me smile. We are lucky to have such beauty so close!

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While there are no pictures of us climbing Conness there is this: Sunrise view from the tent

In between Alpine endeavors and long routes I worked with Sacred Rok, enjoyed the vibe in Tuolumne, did a lot of school work, and spent a lot of time on the East Side. I sport climbed a lot, returning to crags like the Tioga Wall, Bear Crag and Pine Creek and checked out other spots like Column of the Giants. I found myself to be in good shape, having power and endurance and maybe even annoying my friends a little by doing their projects first go. I made some first female ascents at Bear Crag, Tuolumne, and Pine Creek and the second overall ascent of a new route at Pine Creek called Planet X ((13b), its the extension to Planetarium and its really worthy.)Not to brag too much but it’s been great fun!

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Hey Ladies, 13a; Column of the Giants, CA photo Lisa B

 

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Techy slab, crack edging Pine Creek fun. photo POD

I was fortunate that my ankle break was so textbook and didn’t require surgery. I was lucky it healed so well. As of now there are days when I don’t even remember I broke it, which is interesting because in the beginning I couldn’t imagine how it would ever feel normal again. I owe a lot to my dear husband, Ben Ditto, for all of his patience, help and support. It would have been a long, hard and miserable journey without him. I also owe a lot to all the people who helped me through rehab and training – without this core group of knowledgable and kind people I would still be a gimpy mess.

There are a few little projects to tie up and one more week of work before this Sierra sojourn comes to an end. I will meet Ben in France and we will spend the fall and winter in Europe again. The Verdon Gorge will be the first stop, a place that has been a dream of mine for many years. I am looking forward to spending some time there, pratiquer mon francais et bien manger.

I wish all of you a great end to summer and happy fall climbing season – and may the snow gods please deliver an abundance of moisture to the Sierra!

 

also…in case you all are wondering where Ben is in all of this:

In June he made a free ascent of the Freerider – like a bowse! In early July he departed the US and met up with the Belgians and Cpt Bob for another sailing expedition. As of now they have been to Greenland where they established some new routes and boulder problems and have been in Baffin Island doing the same. Stay tuned for more on their adventures. _DSC28614J5A9739_DSC2846


			

Seas of Change

The larger half of the moon glows with orange hues
against a black sky dotted with the lights of stars
across a landscape of space and time.
You are out there in the
far reaches of my mind.
Where the depths of cool, dark waters lap against the rock
Worn away by the tides-
coming and going.
Gritty particles of you are left in the crevices
of being one with the land in the most intimate way.
And when I see the moon, I see you
 Sailing through the seas of change.

ben


A Meditation on life as a pro climber

 

 

1

Getting to know the locals

I have a hazy memory of standing in front of the TV flipping the channels and stopping on ABC’s Wide World of Sports. This was In the back living room of the mid-century house I grew up in, during the heat of the southern Louisiana summer. Two men were on the very tip of some skinny spire, the ground dropped below them hundreds of feet away. I stood there in awe at what I later came to learn was Ron Kauk and Jerry Moffat making a rare free-climbing ascent of Lost Arrow Tip in Yosemite. I recall wondering what they were doing and imagining if I could do that, too.
Photo by Ben Ditto

2

On my home turf: Peace, 5.13d, Tuolumne Meadows

I think that’s where it all started. A tiny seed of an idea was planted and no matter how far fetched it seemed and how far away I lived from the rocks, I was destined to follow that seed. In my mid-30s, when I arrived at the threshold of being a professional climber, my first instinct was to run into that world without looking back. However, after spending years around some of the first professional climbers in the industry, I had gained some insight into the game and one question kept coming to mind: “Could I maintain my integrity, my soul, my story, but also be a good rep for the business?” I said yes to some opportunities that seemed in line with my ideals and no to the ones that felt like they would pull me in the wrong direction.
Photo by Jim Thornberg

3

The world within worlds

Something I have learned from climbing is that by spending time in nature one becomes more aware of other life—the worlds within worlds. We are all connected by at least one common thing—striving to survive but enjoying the time in between. It’s interesting that as humans we have the capacity to create how we will survive. The mind is a powerful thing. The imagination creates and the body enacts and between the two is the self and the spirit. Being a pro climber means that I get to practice my craft, perfect my movement, refine my technique. It allows me the opportunity to fine-tune my body and my movement as well as my mind.
Photo by Ben Ditto

4

#Vanlife

I’ve been fortunate in my climbing to experience faraway places, world-class destinations, dream climbs, amazing partners, and a lot of inspiration from both people and place. We travel much of the year and so it feels like life is in flux. Constantly on the move—to the next adventure, the next objective. So, there is no real solid definition of a home to settle into—save our camper van. Our sense of belonging to a place is fleeting despite spending large amounts of time in the Sierra Nevada. Every place we travel becomes our home. We have become 21st-century nomads on a landscape perpetuated not by the need to survive but by the desire to rock climb.
Photo by Ben Ditto

5

So tired

There have been so many places, so many moments—it’s only in looking at photographs that I can bring back the memories. Otherwise it’s as if it were another life. The idea of returning to place comes back time and time again. Through all of my years of flux I realize that the connections to place are deeper than a home to rest one’s head. The connection to place runs deep in our psyche—the relationships we have with the rocks, the landscapes, the people we meet along the way, and the experiences that build in us—these return us to “place” and help guide and center our lives. These are intimate and give us a connection to something concrete and tangible despite being ephemeral.
Photo by Ben Ditto

 reposted from: http://matadornetwork.com/sports/meditation-life-pro-climber/

My Soul Searches

Europe, my soul searches for you the cobblestone streets that wind through villages leading to glass windows of baguettes and old women whose men in work boots on tractors of plowed fields under endless skies filled with limestone undulations of time.

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Cities of young and beautiful,(cigarettes and cameras) buildings of histories and oldlike the dirt on the soles of the shoes of those who left the pastoral fields for the sunrises on rooftops.

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Continue reading

Winter Meditation on Climbing

Bouldering close to home on This is How we do it at the Russian Space Station (V8); Bishop, CA pic by Michael Pang

Bouldering close to home on This is How we do it at the Russian Space Station (V8); Bishop, CA
pic by Michael Pang

Well into our flight to New York, my head hit the tray table as I jarred awake, startled from my dream. I had just fallen for the 30th+ time on the last crux move of Picos Pardos, a route I had been climbing on for the previous three weeks. As my vision came into focus, I could make out the stewardess passing a customs form to the man sitting next to me. Our five-month trip to Spain to explore its limestone in places like Picos de Europa, La Hermida, Rodellar, and Oliana had finally ended, and we were heading back to California.

As I adjusted to my reality, I was a little relieved to be on the plane heading home rather than coming to rest at the end of my rope again. And yet even though I felt relief, I also felt empty, like I had a hole in my heart or like I’d just been dumped.

Picos Pardos; Oliana, Spain (8b/8b+). pic Tara Reynvaan

Picos Pardos; Oliana, Spain (8b/8b+). pic Tara Reynvaan

My husband was asleep in his seat. Two days before we boarded our plane, he had achieved a personal best in his climbing by making a successful ascent of the 55-meter overhanging route called Fish Eye — an aesthetic line of incut

Climbing the mountains of Spain. pic by Ben Ditto

Climbing the mountains of Spain. pic by Ben Ditto

crimps that ascends the very center of the crag on gold and blue limestone at Oliana. And while this was a big deal for him, no one on this plane knew or would even care.

I was excited for him and thankful for the time we had just spent together and the experiences we’d had, but I was downright depressed. Why had I spent so much time and effort trying something only to leave not having completed it, having fallen time and time again in the same spot? What was I doing with my life? I could see the doors of an existential crisis opening before me.

I am getting older. The sun and the wind define the lines on my face more with each passing day. What was a hobby in my teenage years has turned into a whole life, a passion I cannot ignore. Endless days have been spent amongst the rocks in places both near and far — from the alpine terrain of the Northwest Territories, to the granite monoliths of Yosemite, the sandstone towers in Utah, the sketchy crags in Mexico, the impeccable rock found throughout Europe.

Holidays have been missed, birthdays come and gone. I missed home — my grandmother’s hands, my mom’s voice, our traditional Lebanese foods, and the slow Southern accents. I missed my dad and his jokes and his sense of style.

My best friend was in California, a man who has devoted his whole life to climbing. His climbing resume is impressive to say the least. He is respected by many, has many acquaintances, and is involved in some great youth work. But he is single and lives alone, and I wondered if he hadn’t indirectly isolated himself from others by having chosen a life of climbing. Even though I was with my husband, I felt very lonely.

I knew it would be possible for me to climb Picos Pardos successfully — I had done all the moves, I had linked through the hard part but had fallen higher. I just needed another chance or two or five or who knows how many. I also knew I might not make it before we left, and I’d been telling myself it didn’t matter, that it was all just practice anyway.

Yosemite Granite. pic by Ben Ditto

Yosemite Granite. pic by Ben Ditto

But when I fell on my last try on our last day, it was hard to decipher the wave of emotions spreading over me. I wondered if it had all been in vain — if I had been fooling myself the whole time — and as I sat on the plane feeling sad, I wondered what was the point if in the end and in between we feel lost and lonely and empty?

By the time we were landing at JFK, the hole was filling with sad relief. I could move on, try something else, be released from my self-imposed prison. We tell ourselves, “We can do it,” because we have to convince ourselves it could be possible despite all odds — despite gravity, despite reach, despite conditions, despite any other external factor in the world — because we want to see what’s possible and what it takes to make the dream a reality. And many times we succeed. But more often than not, it’s these times that we don’t where we really learn about ourselves.


Picos de Europa

The West face of Picu Urriellu (naranjo de bulnes) stands proud above the surrounding peaks, drawing climbers from throughout Europe

Words by Katie Lambert, Images by Ben Ditto

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After months of planning, wondering and waiting, Ben, (our new friend) Edu, Sandra and I were finally standing below Picu Urriellu, except we couldn’t make out the formation, as everything in the cirque was enshrouded by Orbayu: a thick, misty fog with a smell not unlike the sea which it rolls off. Our only inkling that the Picu towered above us was that we stood on the porch of the refugio, which guards the approach to the base of the wall. Picu Urriellu, otherwise known as the Naranjo de Bulnes, a formation so grand that it can be seen from miles away in any direction, was still a mystery, even in such proximity.

Often referred to as the centerpiece of Spanish alpinism, the Picu has become Spain’s most famous mountain, yet it sits largely unknown to the rest of the world. It has been said that anyone wishing to call themselves a true climber needs to have this on his or her list. I was drawn to the Picu’s west face by its reputation of steep and bold limestone, by rumor of oddball trad placements, out-of-sight bolts and hard, technical free climbing. With there being around 50 free routes on the west face, my tick list would potentially be quite extensive. Climbing some of the harder free routes would be a more long-term goal; this would be an intro trip, a trip to get to know the wall, the place, and find the most inspiring lines. We would have a couple of weeks in the area before fellow Eddie Bauer athlete Caroline George would meet us. This would be our first time meeting and climbing together, and I was excited to have a good route picked out for us.

Murciana 78 (6a, A1+/ 7c+ free 550m) was one of my objectives. It was first put up as an aid line by Alfonso Cerdán, Juan Carlos Ferrer, Juan Carlos and José Luis Garcia Gallego in 1978, over a period of 9 days, and then eventually free climbed in 1990 by Nick Dixon and Andy Popp. I had come across some photos of the route in my searching in earnest for some sort of beta on getting to and climbing in the Picos. The crux pitch ascended an overhanging dihedral and then exited out onto a steep and technical-looking face. From the photo, the rock looked impeccable. But as we stood on the porch of the refugio and scanned the area for a good spot to pitch our tents and unload our burdensome packs, Murciana 78 and the west face, with all the rest of its routes, still stood as myth and rumor. And just as the anticipation of seeing the wall was about to kill me, the fog dissipated and gave us a very quick glimpse of the orange and grey towering monolith of limestone. In bed that night, tucked into my sleeping bag, I mulled over the guidebook, trying to decipher the history of the Picu. I drifted off to sleep that first night with the thrill and excitement of the days to come.

While there was a lot of action on the Picu for over half a century, most of it was accomplished by men. In 1971, another very historic ascent took place on the west face. Martine Ware—Caroline George’s mother—with her husband Larry climbed the Rabadá-Navarro. They spent two days on the wall, carrying bivy gear with them. With a newborn son (Caroline’s older brother) only 4 months old at home, she became the first woman to scale the west face, a feat that was newsworthy, as reporters and camera crews awaited them on top. Sometime in the 1980s, this route went free. As the decades rolled on, so did the talent level, frequency and magnitude at which people were capable of free climbing, and many other routes went free as well. The grades started to soar from the 5.10 and 5.11 range to 5.12, 5.13 and 5.14 range. The Pou brothers opened up numerous hard aid lines to hard free climbing, creating some of the world’s toughest walls. In 2002, Josune Bereziartu, a very talented and accomplished Basque climber, became the first woman to free climb one of the harder free lines on the west face,”El Pilar del Cantábrica,” going at 5.13. This made quite a mark in the history of the Picu, as well as female alpine rock climbing.

Katie and Caroline unwind at the Refugio after the approach, sorting gear for the climb

The next morning, we rose to clear skies and readied ourselves for the first climb of our trip, Soy Un Hombre Nuevo (7b+ 450m). Recommended to us by a Spanish friend, it would be a good introduction to the climbing there. The chill of the morning was almost unshakable, as the four of us hiked up to the base wearing jackets, windbreakers, hats and gloves. We were looking at approximately 6 more hours of cold shade until the sun hit the wall.

This would be Spanish alpine rock climbing at its finest. The climbing lived up to its reputation of thin, technical and run-out, with creative gear placements. Sandra gave over all her leads to me. In between many meters of climbing, there were sometimes spits (often mistaken for an expansion bolt), sometimes there were pods or small fissures to place cams or stoppers and sometimes there were cords threaded around rungs of limestone, where the water had worn away the rock behind. Very often, it was just better to run it out over long distances, not worrying about which funky piece of gear was better or worse. My previous season in Tuolumne Meadows had tuned me up just right for this, and I was overjoyed to lead us through the edges, sidepulls, gotas, and steep jugs. We climbed ten pitches or so of 5.11 and 5.12, with a handful of 5.10 and easier, joining Ben and Edu on the summit nine hours after setting off. The cold never gave way, and we were taxed from the climbing as well as all the shivering. Elated to be on the summit, we coiled our ropes and discussed which way to the descent. The last rays of sun cast a golden glow over the sea and across the vast valleys capped with paleozoeic limestone in alpine karst peaks. Picu Urriellu had not disappointed us. I was excited about what we had just experienced and looked forward to reaching the summit again with Caroline.

We arrived at our base camp just as the goats had come in for their daily visit. For a hefty fee, the refugio offers a three-plate dinner both to those who sleep there and those who wander in from the mountains. They serve bananas for dessert, and as disappointing as that may seem to us, the goats love the peels. It is the habit of the refugio workers to throw all food waste outside. Because of this, every day a herd of 100 or more goats comes running down the mountains into the cirque—through the tents, trekkers and climbers—straight to the food pile. After entertaining ourselves with the goat show, we set up camp and settled in. The evening was clear and gave us a great view of the wall. Going over the topo and pointing out the line of Murciana 78 to Caroline, it was agreed that we would climb it the next day. So once again I settled into my sleeping bag that night with the excitement of the day to come.

The sound of the Jetboil igniting roused me from my slumber. At 7 am the cirque of the Picu was still cast in darkness and only the promise of something hot to drink could lure me from my bag. As daylight shook it’s drowsy head we made tea, cheese and jam sandwiches and donned our climbing gear. The chill was uncomfortable but as we made our way to the base, blood coursing through our bodies it was decided that it wasn’t all that cold and we left behind our thicker down jackets in exchange for the lighter ones. The “crisp” mountain air would be perfect for trying hard on the 5.13 crux, a pitch that would be coming soon after the first two 5.10 corner pitches.

Having climbed on the wall the week prior I was used to it’s characteristics and opted to lead whatever Caroline didn’t want, but her enthusiasm was evident as she said I should take the crux pitches and we could just swap leads for all the rest. It was game on as I set off on the first pitch. The cool limestone was tacky and textured and as I stemmed and chimneyed my way to the belay placing some gear but not much I was eager to get to the business of the route. After belaying her up the first pitch she set off on the second 5.10 with more crumbly rock, gear placements and crack climbing. This brought us up to a gently sloping belay ledge and the crux of the route.

The wall arched slightly overhead and out of the rock opened up a steep, overhanging crack in a wide dihedral. After 40 feet of this the crack abruptly ended at a gentle overhang where the hard and technical face climbing started. Taking my shoes off I rubbed my cold and numb toes. I needed all the feeling I could get in order to stand on the small edges and high-step my way through the crimps. I had a quick snack, chalked up and set off.

The crack was steep and pumpy but amazingly friendly and took great cam placements. A threader marked the last move out of the crack and onto the steep face. Some tenuous and punchy moves led up to the first bolt and then a brief rest. From there it was more foot edging and more crimping up precision movements to the first crux. A cross-through to a small, sloping right hand edge, a high left foot and an aggressive move out left to a very positive incut. I matched there, shook out and continued the crimp fest to the next crux where a series of sidepulls and wafer like holds made the way to a long move up to a flat jug. I rested briefly and entered the sequence to the last crux consisting of a small gaston and a thrutchy move to another large flat hold and then I was clipping into the anchor. I had sent the crux pitch, a pitch which is mostly done as an aid climb and now there was just one 5.12 next followed by 10 or so more pitches of 5.11 and 5.10.

I belayed Caroline up and set off on the next pitch. It is here that I almost fell, as this pitch is also typically aided and there was no chalk to follow. I quested up, down, right and left. I kept a wicked forearm pump just at bay, and I barely managed to sort out the correct sequence on the correct holds to make it through to higher ground. Relieved to have made it to the anchors, I belayed Caroline up and happily handed over the next lead to her. From here, we pretty much swapped leads the whole way out, leading over similar terrain as the week prior with long runouts, some spits, and creative gear placements. With a couple hours of light left, we reached the summit! We had just made a team free ascent of the classic Murciana 78. Caroline reached a summit that both of her parents had stood on over 40 years ago. I made the first American (female) free ascent climbing–all 550m of it–with no falls. While this was not perhaps some groundbreaking ascent, it was another mark in the history of the Picu.

reposted from:

Seek and You Shall Find

The sun beats against the white lacquered walls of the Tuolumne Meadows store as the grease sizzling in the grill filters out the door. A breeze rattles the notes, flyers and pictures tacked to the cork board out front; climber partner wanted, gear for sale, looking for a ride, missing persons – it’s always the same year after year, week after week yet checking the board, scanning the names, looking for some bit of inspiration scribbled on a scrap has become regular habit. A faded and sun-bleached picture of John Bachar soloing adorns the left side of the board, written in marker below it says, “Bachar Lives.”

Tuolumne is riddled with the imprint of Bachar – while he passed on in 2009 much of him still remains and it’s arguable whether or not what’s been left is a positive force (or not.) We all know the story of the ground-up days of bold in the 80’s and early 90’s – where anything from 5.5 to 5.11 could be so run-out that injury and possibly death become factors of the climb. Bachar wasn’t the only one establishing hairball routes but he did have an immense role in the legacy that modern day climbers are left to face.  Some more modern routes still follow this style but what it’s all led to on the whole are mystery routes not oft repeated; routes that hold an allure but scare off those not seeking the questions or the answers of, “What is going on up there?”

This year makes my 8th summer in Tuolumne and through the years I’ve found myself on quite a few precarious smears and stances searching for the next hold, the next bolt, the next gear placement and the passage that will unfold. Originally, I was drawn to Tuolumne by the Masters of Stone videos – Dan Osman not only soloing but dynoing way off the deck on Blue’s Riff; Ron Kauk crimping his way up the pebbled streak of Peace. I heard tales of having to be head strong, sure footed and unwavering in motivation for the domeland of Yosemite.

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Ron Kauk on his technical route, Peace (5.13+). photo by Chris Falkenstein

Since my first summer in Tuolumne I have picked my way through many of the classics and many of the more obscure, making many second ascents, some possible first ascents and learning a lot in the process. In 2009 I partnered up with Lonnie Kauk and together we made the 4th and 5th free ascents of Ron Kauk’s contribution to Medlicott,  Peace. In over a decade this superb piece of rock had only seen less than a dozen ascents. With a successful red-point of this 160 ft knobby crimpfest my ego made me feel special but I wondered why such a beauty had been left alone for so long. This route opened up a new world to me of Tuolumne climbing and in my search of the climbs of lore what I found were mossy holds, old bolts, weird bolts, run outs, technical test pieces and few people who wanted to embark on these journeys.  It was becoming clear to me that these gems of the past were being looked over for safer, easier, more traveled terrain.

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Katie Lambert on the 2nd Female Ascent of Peace. photo by Jim Thornburg

Sometime in the 90’s Dave Bengston put up a one-pitch climb on Daff Dome which exits left off the sloping ledge from the 1st pitch of Cooke Book.  His long and lanky figure spanned from distant hold to distant hold and he rated the pitch 5.12c and aptly named the route The Albatross. However, two more potential pitches loomed above and yet it wasn’t until some 8 years later that they were unlocked and red-pointed by Mikey Schafer. Mikey’s smaller stature and technical prowess laid to rest what Bengston’s longer frame couldn’t pull and thus The Rise and Fall of the Albatross was established going at 5.13a/b. Another 6 years went by before another ascent was made of the steep, technical and slightly run-out route when Ben Ditto and I both subsequently red-pointed every pitch summer 2012.

While I was temporarily pleased with our accomplishment I was intrigued by a line that was veering off to the far right from the second pitch belay. I realized that this was the crux pitch of the infamous Bombs Over Tokyo. Rumors and mystery surrounded this climb and the words, “hariball and runout” seemed to drip off the holds. Just after our red-points of Albatross we left Tuolumne for the Cirque of the Unclimbables and then Europe. We wouldn’t be in Tuolumne’s graces for another year, yet my interest was piqued by this mysterious route and I vowed to return later.

In July of this year I went from the ground to search out the mystery of Bachar’s Bombs Over Tokyo. After the first and classic 5.10c pitch we encountered the 5.11dR pitch. A Bachar route in all its glory as a fall going to the first and only pin some 20 plus feet up would result in a fall into a ledge and broken ankle. We went around and lowered in. The thin, closed-off seam turned out to be more of a technical crimp fest than a lieback and the possibility of any real solid gear was questionable. According to local hardman Bob Jensen, some friends had tried to pound in another Lost Arrow but couldn’t get it in and they bailed. I was equipped with tiny nuts and managed to get two odd-ball placements of a small brassy and small offset. If they held a fall they would at least keep me off the ledge and even if they pulled they would hopefully slow me down enough to not totally smash my world apart. Hopefully all of my technical training on runout slabs would prove useful on this one.

Then came Pitch 3, the real mystery of the route. Originally the aid line went straight up from the belay and then around an arete into a right angling crack. Bachar’s account is that this is the line he freed; after a few attempts he red-pointed and rated it 5.12c. It looked ok, but what really had my interest was a bolt line going up and then way out right out of sight over a roof. The “hairball traverse,” that maybe hadn’t gone free but had been attempted and was probably in the 5.13 range.

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John Bachar freeing the aid line of “Bombs Over Tokyo.” photo Phil Bard

I ventured up placing some cams and then moved down to the first bolt and the start of the hand traverse out fairly positive edges and knobs for 20 feet to the next bolt. A fall from this zone would have been terrible and resulted in another ankle breaking possibility. Relieved at having made it to the second bolt I peeked around the corner at what lay ahead and what I saw was both amazing and intimidating. 40 more feet of traversing on thin edges to a down mantel to some hand traversing across a roof to another mantel up to hopefully some holds and then 40 more feet to the anchor. In all of that terrain there were 4 more bolts. They were newer, shiny and egged me onward.

I took some deep breaths and set out around the corner and out of sight of my belayer. Climbing across fairly delicate and pliable holds I had made it to the roof and set about hand traversing out it. The exposure was surreal and it was starting to give me the creeps. I thought to myself that all I had to do was mantle up, make a couple of moves and get to the next bolt.  Except the holds were dirty and covered in lichen and every time I pulled up with a heel hook into the mantle my hands would slip a little and every time I would climb back down and way back left to the last bolt 15 feet behind me. I did this about 5 times, each time looking back at my 9.1 rope draped across sharp knobs, wondering if the sideways fall into the unknown below the roof would cut my rope. Eventually I returned to the belay, leaving behind two lowerout biners and we rapped to the ground. John Bachar Lives played over and over in my head as we walked down the trail and I was more intrigued than ever.

I spent time thinking about the route, asking around about it’s possible ascents and was left with questions. I kept climbing on other lesser known and less-repeated routes. Ben Ditto and I made an ascent of one of Drug Dome’s newer, forgotten classics called Anatolio (5.12+R). A route put up by Chad Shepard in honor of his departed grandfather. While on this route I became intrigued by yet another newer, forgotten classic put up by Sean Leary called Acapulco Gold, going at 5.12cR.  It took me three different trips up the route before I could pull the moves on the wildly steep (by Tuolumne standards) crux pitch. In my attempts to stick the polished and sloping knobs I took a few large wingers out into space as there are no bolts which protect the crux moves making this route stiff and committing, (not to mention the R first and last pitches). It was fun to have such air time in Tuolumne and I relished the moments of flying. Eventually with the belay of good friend Patrick O’Donnell I made possibly the second ascent of this route.

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Drug Dome. photo by Ben Ditto

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Katie Lambert red-pointing Acapulco Gold (5.12cR). photo by Ben Ditto

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Drug Dome summit celebration. photo by Ben Ditto

Continuing on with my tour of the harder, technical and less-repeated routes of Yosemite’s high country I set to work on another Ron Kauk contribution to Pywiak Dome called European Vacation (5.13b); A definite technical test piece and one rumored to be too reachy for the shorter folks I was determined to sort out a sequence. In asking Ron about it he could hardly count on two hands the number of known ascents of this route. He did mention that Lynn Hill red-pointed it but as far as other women it was unlikely. My dear friends and fellow petit crushers, Maki Grossnick and Thea Marie and I tried it out one evening. Initially unable to pull the intro moves but managing to crimp and balance and steady our way through the rest of the route I was immediately hooked. Two more sessions in this beautiful spot hidden from the crowds and the noise of the road I managed to figure out the opening sequence and was blessed with another Tuolumne free ascent making possibly the second overall women’s ascent of the route.

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Katie Lambert red-pointing European Vacation(5.13b). photo by Ben Ditto

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Are those really holds!? European Vacation. photo by Ben Ditto

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Reaching new heights and tiny holds on European Vacation (5.13b). photo by Ben Ditto

On August 10th I once again set out to solve the mystery of Bombs Over Tokyo. Cruising up the most enjoyable 5.10 intro pitch I arrived at the 5.11R. Having placed two small nuts in shallow, precarious placements the thin, technical climbing was now protected with three pieces in it’s entirety. As long as I stayed calm I could keep the balance and precision. I recalled the stories of this pitch with it’s original two fixed pins and how one of them had fallen out. My nuts seemed solid enough and keeping my breathing regular I gently made my way to the anchor, hoping that the next crux pitch would go just as well. I belayed Ben up as he did spectacularly well on the foot chips and centimeter edges of the crack.

So, here I was again on Pitch 3 climbing over and around the arete, crossing my left hand over my right onto half-pad edges and smearing my feet on the steep gold wall. I reached the breakable, incut flake edge and shook out. I had a wicked forearm pump and was starting to consider the terrain ahead. Another cross to a bad, layered crimp and then the down mantle to the roof traverse to the final mantle to the balancy, technical face. Two more bolts stood between me and the anchor.

Before setting off I had told Ben to just have a lot of slack out, as a fall from anywhere out there could result in a crater into the roof. I figured at least with a lot of slack I had the hopes of falling past the roof into space. I wavered between totally calm and confident to scared silly. I yelled back at Ben who was out of sight 60 feet away that I was scared and he replied, “It’s ok, nothing bad can happen.” That was all I needed to hear, a light went off in my mind. I just needed to let myself pull the moves. With some tenacity and assurance I climbed down to the roof, one foot below me, one foot heel hooking and into the sloping knobs and mantled up to edges. Soon enough I was balancing on both legs, pressing up to reach the high half pad crimp to clip the next bolt.  I stood up, exhaled, chalked up and kept moving. I made it to the anchor and let out a “WOOT!”

A party below us was on the 1st pitch of Bombs and the belayer yelled up in excitement. With two more moderate pitches to the summit I had done it, I had made the first free ascent of this route.  All summer I had sought out the questions and pulled through the mysteries.  I had just put myth to rest and what I found to be truth wasn’t so bad after all.