The Big Year - By: Dave Roscoe Hodson
Yosemite Quarter Dome and Yosemite East Face of El Capitan
It seemed as if I woke up in a storybook land. Birds were chirping in the trees, puffy white clouds drifted through a brilliant blue sky. I unzipped my sleeping bag, stood and stretched. I was near the edge of a river, crystal clear with a blue-green hue and it was flowing with spring snowmelt. Trout swam over the rocky bottom. I saw that I was in a valley with dramatic stone walls towering above. In the distance I could see a waterfall.
This is the famed Yosemite that I have been dreaming about for a long time. Three of us arrived late last night after a long drive. This was the place I had been day dreaming about for four years. This place was Mecca for rock climbers and it was no dream. I finally made it to the holy land.
It was mid-May of 1977 and I was there with two of my climbing buddies. I sold them on the idea of joining me on a quest to climb some big walls. To me, it was the ultimate in adventure. I hadn’t been climbing very long when I had seen photos of men sleeping in hammocks up on that big wall. It seemed to me like the most outrageous place to camp and I wanted to experience it myself.
During advanced training during my short army career, I found out that I enjoyed doing dangerous things in nature. Big wall climbing seemed to be the next big step in my quest for adventure.
My two partners were Peter and Dennis. The three of us had often climbed together and we all got along well. These guys were physically fit and gifted free climbers as well. I had the skills for the direct aid climbing required for most of the big walls. They knew the valley from their trip here last year.
Peter had the distinction of surviving a long fall on one of our local crags when an old anchor bolt sheared off. He lucked out when he hit a tree, allowing him walk away with only a broken wrist. His partner spent six weeks in the hospital.
We all knew danger was a big part of the climbing adventure. The element of prolonged danger was the big difference between big wall climbers and the average climber on a day climb.
Back in Arizona, after a day on the rock, the three of us would drive home together in the Batmobile, Dennis’ 68 Chevy station wagon. They would smoke a joint on the way home and always offered to share with me but, I was still cautious with drugs due to my upbringing in the Baptist church. My conservative religious upbringing held me back in so many ways, but hanging out with rock climbers was helping me change my views on many things.
I was twenty-five and lived in poverty with a crazy wife who had a tenuous grasp on reality. I needed climbing. It was the one bright spot in my life and helped me escape my dreary home life. Plus, I enjoyed the comradery of my new tribe. We faced danger together and we were different from the norm.
I had finally arrived in Yosemite to fulfill my dream of climbing some big walls. For a while, I could block out thoughts of my depressing home life, working menial jobs and part time schooling while working towards a degree in construction. I needed a big adventure to help my mental health.
The three of us no time as we made ready to head off to our first item on our agenda; to climb Quarter Dome. We stuffed our packs with ropes, climbing hardware, rain gear, sleeping bags, a few cans of food and bottles of water. We would hump our heavy loads on the long arduous hike into our climb.
We started hiking at Mirror Lake and looked up at Half Dome, five thousand feet above. To get to our goal of Quarter Dome, we would have a long hike along the Tenaya Creek before we began the long slog up to the wall.
We struggled along with heavy packs on our backs as we followed the elusive trail along the creek for a few hours and once we caught a glimpse of Quarter Dome, we headed up towards our goal. The hike up required struggling up 50-degree granite slabs streaked with rivulets of snow melt and surrounded by tangles of impenetrable Manzanita bushes. The easiest way seemed to be climbing the edges of the slabs adjacent to the bushes. We grabbed onto the Manzanita for handholds as we didn’t want to take any falls down those slabs.
We struggled up fifteen hundred feet of steep canyon for hours. We would stop to catch our breath for a minute while we gazed above at the sixteen-hundred-foot-north face that we intended to climb.
Late that afternoon, we reached the base of the climb and were physically whipped. We called it a day and camped below an overhang. We noticed that clouds seemed to be increasing and the temperature was cooler than we expected for mid-May. We hoped for a blue sky and warmer temperatures.
An early start saw Peter heading up the first pitch while I belayed. I soon joined him and sorted the gear rack for the next pitch. I led up a dirty crack and was excited to finally be climbing a big wall. I finished the pitch, set good anchors and as my partners climbed the fixed ropes, I hauled our big red bag with our food, water and bivouac gear.
One hundred feet above, a bomb-bay flake with a foot-wide opening loomed down on us. Peter Started leading up a crack towards the overhang and was making good progress free climbing, but soon the difficulties forced him to pull out his stirrups and start aid climbing, slowing his progress.
As he approached the bomb-bay flake, chunks of ice began to spit out from the bomb-bay opening in the rock and pelting us with ice cubes. We scrambled to protect ourselves, shielding our heads by with our arms and packs. The ice shower only lasted a minute, but we were anxious to get past this threat. Peter finished his lead and we climbed the ropes, joining him on a small ledge.
The sky remained gray as the temperature dropped. We stayed warm while climbing but we were cold as we watched the leader move higher.
Dennis climbed a difficult but well-protected crack that ended on a ledge with room to stand for the three of us. We were up four pitches now and we had a great view of the three-thousand-foot face of Mount Watkins, directly across the valley.
I traversed left on easy ground for thirty feet then climbed a moderate crack that brought me to a tiny ledge. I anchored the ropes and prepared to haul the bag. The boys kicked it off the ledge and we watched it make a dramatic swing. It banged against some big rocks, which worried me. I hauled the bag while Peter jugged up the rope and joined me at the belay. Peter reracked the gear sling and took off on the next lead. Dennis joined me on the ledge.
We were making good progress and after Peter’s lead, we would have only one more pitch to put us on a big ledge where we could bivouac for the night. It was almost to the half way point up the route.
While I belayed Peter, I asked Dennis to check inside the haul bag to make sure that the big swing did no harm. He opened up and groaned with disappointment when he discovered that a gallon jug of water, placed at the top of the bag, had burst open and soaked our down sleeping bags. Down bags won’t keep you warm when they’re wet. With the weather getting colder, this was a devastating development.
We discussed the situation as I continued to pay out rope to Peter on his lead above us. We agreed the most rational decision was to retreat from the wall and hike back to the valley to regroup. We had no intention of staying on the wall. To be caught up on a wall in bad weather could result in hypothermia and none of us were ready to die. No one knew where we were and in 1977, there were no cell phones.
It was late in the afternoon and we knew that the long descent and the hike back to the valley meant we were in for a marathon. We wouldn’t get back to civilization for many hours. It was depressing, but it was our best option.
We relayed the news to Peter. He fixed an anchor and rappelled back down to join us. Then we rappelled and climbed back across the traverse to the good ledge. We continued a series of rappels back down the route.
At the base, we coiled ropes and shouldered packs for the long hike. We were in a race to get down fifteen hundred feet of steep ground before darkness. It would be a nightmare if we had to negotiate that long slope of Manzanita and smooth granite slabs in the dark.
I took off with the boys close behind. I hadn’t gone far when I found myself at the top of a big granite slab. Too steep to walk down, I looked for our best option. On my left, was a dense forest of Manzanita that would be a nightmare to thrash our way through. On the right, a narrow low angle catwalk-like break in a slab appeared to be a prefect walkway but part if it was wet from a trickle of snowmelt. It didn’t look safe to me. Dennis joined me and I told him that we needed find anchors and set up a rappel from where we stood.
Peter arrived and without a word, started to walk across the catwalk.
We watched as he started walking across the narrow catwalk and after fifteen feet, he hit the wet granite and immediately fell on his ass! We watched in horror as he slid down the big slab on his ass, like a kid riding a sled down a snow hill. I was pretty sure I was seeing him on a death fall.
By using his hands, he stabilized himself in an upright sitting position as he rocketed down the fifty-degree-slab. I can only imagine the jolt of adrenaline he was experiencing.
Peter possessed great poise, along with the presence of mind to maintain his cool and ride it out. A lesser man might have panicked and tumbled, insuring his own death. I can’t imagine what must have been going on in his mind when saw that he would soon hit the ledge.
Our jaws dropped as we watched his fast slide end quickly with a crash-landing onto a ledge. He was lucky that the ledge was wide enough to stop him from continuing the next three hundred feet below the ledge.
I was surprised when I saw him move. He wasn’t dead!
We had to get down to him pronto. I looked around for a rappel anchor and amazingly, I found an anchor bolt within a few feet. Apparently, we weren’t the first to retreat from this wall.
We tied our two 165’ ropes together for a rappel and tied on a nylon sling to the bolt. We tossed the ropes down the slab, but they were short by thirty feet. Not a problem, as we could carefully downclimb the easy slab. I watched Dennis hurry down the lines to Peter and I soon followed.
Peter told us that he had probably broken his lower leg and ankle. Dennis and I fashioned a splint, using a sleeping pad and some nylon cord. It wasn’t much, but that was all we could do. We didn’t even have a first aid kit!
Yosemite Quarter Dome and Yosemite East Face of El Capitan
It seemed as if I woke up in a storybook land. Birds were chirping in the trees, puffy white clouds drifted through a brilliant blue sky. I unzipped my sleeping bag, stood and stretched. I was near the edge of a river, crystal clear with a blue-green hue and it was flowing with spring snowmelt. Trout swam over the rocky bottom. I saw that I was in a valley with dramatic stone walls towering above. In the distance I could see a waterfall.
This is the famed Yosemite that I have been dreaming about for a long time. Three of us arrived late last night after a long drive. This was the place I had been day dreaming about for four years. This place was Mecca for rock climbers and it was no dream. I finally made it to the holy land.
It was mid-May of 1977 and I was there with two of my climbing buddies. I sold them on the idea of joining me on a quest to climb some big walls. To me, it was the ultimate in adventure. I hadn’t been climbing very long when I had seen photos of men sleeping in hammocks up on that big wall. It seemed to me like the most outrageous place to camp and I wanted to experience it myself.
During advanced training during my short army career, I found out that I enjoyed doing dangerous things in nature. Big wall climbing seemed to be the next big step in my quest for adventure.
My two partners were Peter and Dennis. The three of us had often climbed together and we all got along well. These guys were physically fit and gifted free climbers as well. I had the skills for the direct aid climbing required for most of the big walls. They knew the valley from their trip here last year.
Peter had the distinction of surviving a long fall on one of our local crags when an old anchor bolt sheared off. He lucked out when he hit a tree, allowing him walk away with only a broken wrist. His partner spent six weeks in the hospital.
We all knew danger was a big part of the climbing adventure. The element of prolonged danger was the big difference between big wall climbers and the average climber on a day climb.
Back in Arizona, after a day on the rock, the three of us would drive home together in the Batmobile, Dennis’ 68 Chevy station wagon. They would smoke a joint on the way home and always offered to share with me but, I was still cautious with drugs due to my upbringing in the Baptist church. My conservative religious upbringing held me back in so many ways, but hanging out with rock climbers was helping me change my views on many things.
I was twenty-five and lived in poverty with a crazy wife who had a tenuous grasp on reality. I needed climbing. It was the one bright spot in my life and helped me escape my dreary home life. Plus, I enjoyed the comradery of my new tribe. We faced danger together and we were different from the norm.
I had finally arrived in Yosemite to fulfill my dream of climbing some big walls. For a while, I could block out thoughts of my depressing home life, working menial jobs and part time schooling while working towards a degree in construction. I needed a big adventure to help my mental health.
The three of us no time as we made ready to head off to our first item on our agenda; to climb Quarter Dome. We stuffed our packs with ropes, climbing hardware, rain gear, sleeping bags, a few cans of food and bottles of water. We would hump our heavy loads on the long arduous hike into our climb.
We started hiking at Mirror Lake and looked up at Half Dome, five thousand feet above. To get to our goal of Quarter Dome, we would have a long hike along the Tenaya Creek before we began the long slog up to the wall.
We struggled along with heavy packs on our backs as we followed the elusive trail along the creek for a few hours and once we caught a glimpse of Quarter Dome, we headed up towards our goal. The hike up required struggling up 50-degree granite slabs streaked with rivulets of snow melt and surrounded by tangles of impenetrable Manzanita bushes. The easiest way seemed to be climbing the edges of the slabs adjacent to the bushes. We grabbed onto the Manzanita for handholds as we didn’t want to take any falls down those slabs.
We struggled up fifteen hundred feet of steep canyon for hours. We would stop to catch our breath for a minute while we gazed above at the sixteen-hundred-foot-north face that we intended to climb.
Late that afternoon, we reached the base of the climb and were physically whipped. We called it a day and camped below an overhang. We noticed that clouds seemed to be increasing and the temperature was cooler than we expected for mid-May. We hoped for a blue sky and warmer temperatures.
An early start saw Peter heading up the first pitch while I belayed. I soon joined him and sorted the gear rack for the next pitch. I led up a dirty crack and was excited to finally be climbing a big wall. I finished the pitch, set good anchors and as my partners climbed the fixed ropes, I hauled our big red bag with our food, water and bivouac gear.
One hundred feet above, a bomb-bay flake with a foot-wide opening loomed down on us. Peter Started leading up a crack towards the overhang and was making good progress free climbing, but soon the difficulties forced him to pull out his stirrups and start aid climbing, slowing his progress.
As he approached the bomb-bay flake, chunks of ice began to spit out from the bomb-bay opening in the rock and pelting us with ice cubes. We scrambled to protect ourselves, shielding our heads by with our arms and packs. The ice shower only lasted a minute, but we were anxious to get past this threat. Peter finished his lead and we climbed the ropes, joining him on a small ledge.
The sky remained gray as the temperature dropped. We stayed warm while climbing but we were cold as we watched the leader move higher.
Dennis climbed a difficult but well-protected crack that ended on a ledge with room to stand for the three of us. We were up four pitches now and we had a great view of the three-thousand-foot face of Mount Watkins, directly across the valley.
I traversed left on easy ground for thirty feet then climbed a moderate crack that brought me to a tiny ledge. I anchored the ropes and prepared to haul the bag. The boys kicked it off the ledge and we watched it make a dramatic swing. It banged against some big rocks, which worried me. I hauled the bag while Peter jugged up the rope and joined me at the belay. Peter reracked the gear sling and took off on the next lead. Dennis joined me on the ledge.
We were making good progress and after Peter’s lead, we would have only one more pitch to put us on a big ledge where we could bivouac for the night. It was almost to the half way point up the route.
While I belayed Peter, I asked Dennis to check inside the haul bag to make sure that the big swing did no harm. He opened up and groaned with disappointment when he discovered that a gallon jug of water, placed at the top of the bag, had burst open and soaked our down sleeping bags. Down bags won’t keep you warm when they’re wet. With the weather getting colder, this was a devastating development.
We discussed the situation as I continued to pay out rope to Peter on his lead above us. We agreed the most rational decision was to retreat from the wall and hike back to the valley to regroup. We had no intention of staying on the wall. To be caught up on a wall in bad weather could result in hypothermia and none of us were ready to die. No one knew where we were and in 1977, there were no cell phones.
It was late in the afternoon and we knew that the long descent and the hike back to the valley meant we were in for a marathon. We wouldn’t get back to civilization for many hours. It was depressing, but it was our best option.
We relayed the news to Peter. He fixed an anchor and rappelled back down to join us. Then we rappelled and climbed back across the traverse to the good ledge. We continued a series of rappels back down the route.
At the base, we coiled ropes and shouldered packs for the long hike. We were in a race to get down fifteen hundred feet of steep ground before darkness. It would be a nightmare if we had to negotiate that long slope of Manzanita and smooth granite slabs in the dark.
I took off with the boys close behind. I hadn’t gone far when I found myself at the top of a big granite slab. Too steep to walk down, I looked for our best option. On my left, was a dense forest of Manzanita that would be a nightmare to thrash our way through. On the right, a narrow low angle catwalk-like break in a slab appeared to be a prefect walkway but part if it was wet from a trickle of snowmelt. It didn’t look safe to me. Dennis joined me and I told him that we needed find anchors and set up a rappel from where we stood.
Peter arrived and without a word, started to walk across the catwalk.
We watched as he started walking across the narrow catwalk and after fifteen feet, he hit the wet granite and immediately fell on his ass! We watched in horror as he slid down the big slab on his ass, like a kid riding a sled down a snow hill. I was pretty sure I was seeing him on a death fall.
By using his hands, he stabilized himself in an upright sitting position as he rocketed down the fifty-degree-slab. I can only imagine the jolt of adrenaline he was experiencing.
Peter possessed great poise, along with the presence of mind to maintain his cool and ride it out. A lesser man might have panicked and tumbled, insuring his own death. I can’t imagine what must have been going on in his mind when saw that he would soon hit the ledge.
Our jaws dropped as we watched his fast slide end quickly with a crash-landing onto a ledge. He was lucky that the ledge was wide enough to stop him from continuing the next three hundred feet below the ledge.
I was surprised when I saw him move. He wasn’t dead!
We had to get down to him pronto. I looked around for a rappel anchor and amazingly, I found an anchor bolt within a few feet. Apparently, we weren’t the first to retreat from this wall.
We tied our two 165’ ropes together for a rappel and tied on a nylon sling to the bolt. We tossed the ropes down the slab, but they were short by thirty feet. Not a problem, as we could carefully downclimb the easy slab. I watched Dennis hurry down the lines to Peter and I soon followed.
Peter told us that he had probably broken his lower leg and ankle. Dennis and I fashioned a splint, using a sleeping pad and some nylon cord. It wasn’t much, but that was all we could do. We didn’t even have a first aid kit!
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To keep our loads to a minimum for our approach, we hadn’t brough anything that we didn’t think we would need. As the weather was beginning to pelt us with rain and snow, we realized that a tarp would have been handy to have. Our minimal rain gear wouldn’t keep us dry. My first big Yosemite wall and I was leaning some hard lessons.
As the weather worsened, the harsh reality hit us as we realized that, we were in for a long, cold, wet night. It was guaranteed to be a grim night.
We put on our rain gear to try to provide a modicum of shelter and sat on our ropes for a bit of insulation from the cold ledge and leaned our backs against the slab, waiting for dawn. It was a long wait.
Trying to feel like we were doing something positive, we planned for the morning. As soon as it was light enough to see, Dennis would hike back to the valley to summon help while I stayed with Peter.
We shared our meager rations and then Dennis pulled out a joint and lit it. As usual, the boys offered me the weed. Until now, I had never smoked but tonight, with the spectacle of the near death fall and facing a brutal night without shelter, I had little to lose and decided to give it a try.
Drugs were bad according to my parents, but my new experience seemed good. I was still damp, cold and traumatized, but I thought about my life, the good and the bad. I realized that I wanted something than I had now, but I was going to need to make some big changes. The weed gave me a new perspective. I knew that getting married at a young age was a huge mistake. We weren’t working as a team; my domestic life was only an existence. I needed someone who saw life as I did. I wanted a partner with a sense of humor and a sense of adventure. I wanted a woman who would be my teammate and share the load.
I knew the best thing in my life was climbing. It was the one thing that gave me a reason to live. I was part of a small, close-knit tribe of oddballs who were out of touch from most of society. We liked to go out and have great experiences climbing and risking our live in the beauty of nature. It seemed as if most people preferred to go shopping and watch sports on TV. That wasn’t living to us.
We were odd alright but climbing was a positive sport to me because we were working towards our goal: facing death and destruction and risk was central to our obsession. Someone once said, that you haven’t lived until you almost died. Peter’s fall underscored that thought.
All night long, as the storm pummeled us, my mind kept replaying the frightening image of Peter rocketing down that slab. It was traumatic for me but I wasn’t hurt and I was capable of walking out if needed.
Finally, the sky began to show signs of the approaching dawn. I was happy that the storm was fairly warm and there wasn’t accumulation of snow. The rain was also tapering off. It could have been much worse but we were anxious to relieve our situation.
I used the Manzanita bushes to anchor the rappel line as Dennis made sure his harness was ready to go. The ropes were still tied together from our last rappel and I tossed the free end down from our ledge and watch it as it whipped out into space. This would give Dennis a three-hundred-foot head start on his long descent and hike. He was in excellent physical shape and we hoped he would make it back to the valley in good time. I prayed that he could avoid injury himself. Another night out in this weather was unthinkable.
The fog was so thick that we quickly lost sight of Dennis as he rappelled down into a cloud. I knew that cloud cover could negate a helicopter rescue. Smart pilots don’t fly into clouds.
Peter and I sat for hours on the ledge with nothing to do had me continuing my introspective thoughts about my life while we waited for something to happen. Dennis was actually doing something but waiting is the hard part.
My deep thoughts were interrupted by a noise. A helicopter! Dennis must have made it back and rallied the troops. The weather was slowly getting better, a lucky break for us. I looked up to see a blue hole in the clouds. We watched with excitement as the copter dropped through the blue hole and began searching for us. I was concerned that they hadn’t seen us when the ship dropped below our level but I felt better when two men exited the copter. Soon, the copter flew back out the hole in the clouds.
We watched as two people climbed towards us. They found the line still in place and used their rope ascenders to facilitate their climb. We were pretty happy when they joined us on the ledge. Words can’t express the relief that I felt.
They were park rangers and immediately attended to Peter and improved the splint. One of them talked on his radio while the other helped Peter put on a mesh jumpsuit with a big metal connector on the belly.
An hour later, I heard the unique slapping sound from the big blades of a Huey helicopter. I knew that sound well after my time in the army. I had flown and rappelled out of the Hueys on many occasions.
We watched excitedly as the Huey descended through the clouds. One of the rangers popped a smoke grenade to pinpoint our location and plume of red smoke would show the pilot the wind direction. A few minutes later, the ship hovered above us and a cable was lowered. A ranger grabbed the hook and clipped it Peter’s rescue suit. A few moments later, I watched him rise up and disappear into the copter. That was a great feeling for both of us.
I had assumed that I would be walking out but the rangers said that I was going out with my pal.
The cable reappeared with a yellow “Horse Collar” and the rangers helped drop the collar over my head and torso below my shoulders. I was told to I keep my hands together and the collar rested under my armpits. We looked up at the Crew Chief who was peering down from above. One of the rangers gave him the “thumbs-up” signal and I began moving up to the Huey. I enjoyed the adventure of the lift plus the bonus of the enjoying the beauty of the remote wilderness from my unique perspective. The exposure was fantastic and I probably had a big smile on my face when the Crew Chief pulled me in and sat me on the metal floor next to Peter. We looked each other in the eyes with a sense of astonishment.
The short flight back to the valley provided some spectacular views and soon we were approaching the ground. I felt the ship’s nose rise when the pilot flared and settled onto the landing pad on a grass meadow a hundred feet from the medical center.
People on the ground wheeled out a gurney for Peter and I jumped out and moved out of the way. The medical people wheeled Peter into the building. I dragged off our haul bag and thanked the crew for their fine work. A minute later, from the ship and onto the gurney. A moment later, they pilot took off as they headed back to China Lake Naval Base.
The sky was clearing and I found myself standing and enjoying the warmth of the sun. How quickly things had changed. I saw Dennis come over and we carried the big bag to the Batmobile.
The first thing we did head over to the laundromat to dry out sleeping bags. We would enjoy sleeping in warm, dry sleeping bags this night which would be a real luxury.
The next day, Dennis took me over to Glacier Point Apron where we climbed some fun, moderate free climbs. It was great to be climbing again and feel like I was getting back to normal.
The next day, after a well-needed rest, we drove to the Medical Center. Peter required surgery on his leg and ankle and we had to get him back home to phoenix for that to occur.
We showed up at his bedside to load him in the back of the Batmobile. We already had the back seat down flat to make him comfortable for the long drive home. As we helped him get out of the bed, we were freaked out when we saw what we thought was shit on the bedsheets. He quickly told us it was pus from the skin that had been sanded down on his long slide.
So much for my climbing expedition. I didn’t get to climb a big wall but I did have a real exciting adventure. I vowed to return next year and make another attempt to climb a big wall.
Back home, I needed a summer job and decided I want to become a framing carpenter. I borrowed a hammer and some nail bags from dad, the master carpenter, who never tried to teach me about his trade.
I hired on with a carpenter crew as an apprentice. The work was hard but gratifying. I was got along with the crew and each day it was gratifying to see our progress.
Each day I looked forward to gaining more skill in my new trade. It was hard work but fun, working together with the other guys, hoisting up walls and trusses and watching each house come together. It was physically demanding work but it kept me in shape for climbing on the weekends.
Things at home hadn’t changed. My wife and her emotional problems continued to drag me. I began to question my religious beliefs. Life would be so much easier if I had a real partner in life.
I decided to stick with carpentry job and put off my final year of school. I smoked weed on occasion with my climbing pals and coworkers and I kept it secret from my wife. I was enjoying smoking weed and thinking of new possibilities for my life. I wasn’t the same man as I was before the Yosemite trip.
The tumultuous tipping point with my wife finally came about after I came home after climbing all day on Christmas Eve. Her insecurities opened the proverbial barn door and I saw that this was my big opportunity for a quick exit. I didn’t hesitate and I made the break. I knew that I was never coming back. I spent the night alone in my tent out in the McDowell mountains. I was lonely at the moment but I knew that life was somehow, going to get better.
After a few days to clear my head, I moved back in to my parent’s house. They weren’t big fans of my wife and were happy for the change. My brother told me that he thought marriage had robbed me of my motivation in life.
New Year’s Day arrived and I knew that 1978 was the year to begin a better life and I was going to start heading in a positive direction.
I was going through my wallet and I found a list of phone numbers from the high school outdoors club that I had occasionally helped teach rock climbing. I noticed a phone number for Dee Wimer, one of the student leaders. I took special notice of her the first day that I worked with the group. She caught my eye and I thought she looked like my ideal woman, a young mountain goddess. I got to know her during numerous climbing days with the group and she always impressed me as mature, energetic, fearless and easy to talk with.
As the weather worsened, the harsh reality hit us as we realized that, we were in for a long, cold, wet night. It was guaranteed to be a grim night.
We put on our rain gear to try to provide a modicum of shelter and sat on our ropes for a bit of insulation from the cold ledge and leaned our backs against the slab, waiting for dawn. It was a long wait.
Trying to feel like we were doing something positive, we planned for the morning. As soon as it was light enough to see, Dennis would hike back to the valley to summon help while I stayed with Peter.
We shared our meager rations and then Dennis pulled out a joint and lit it. As usual, the boys offered me the weed. Until now, I had never smoked but tonight, with the spectacle of the near death fall and facing a brutal night without shelter, I had little to lose and decided to give it a try.
Drugs were bad according to my parents, but my new experience seemed good. I was still damp, cold and traumatized, but I thought about my life, the good and the bad. I realized that I wanted something than I had now, but I was going to need to make some big changes. The weed gave me a new perspective. I knew that getting married at a young age was a huge mistake. We weren’t working as a team; my domestic life was only an existence. I needed someone who saw life as I did. I wanted a partner with a sense of humor and a sense of adventure. I wanted a woman who would be my teammate and share the load.
I knew the best thing in my life was climbing. It was the one thing that gave me a reason to live. I was part of a small, close-knit tribe of oddballs who were out of touch from most of society. We liked to go out and have great experiences climbing and risking our live in the beauty of nature. It seemed as if most people preferred to go shopping and watch sports on TV. That wasn’t living to us.
We were odd alright but climbing was a positive sport to me because we were working towards our goal: facing death and destruction and risk was central to our obsession. Someone once said, that you haven’t lived until you almost died. Peter’s fall underscored that thought.
All night long, as the storm pummeled us, my mind kept replaying the frightening image of Peter rocketing down that slab. It was traumatic for me but I wasn’t hurt and I was capable of walking out if needed.
Finally, the sky began to show signs of the approaching dawn. I was happy that the storm was fairly warm and there wasn’t accumulation of snow. The rain was also tapering off. It could have been much worse but we were anxious to relieve our situation.
I used the Manzanita bushes to anchor the rappel line as Dennis made sure his harness was ready to go. The ropes were still tied together from our last rappel and I tossed the free end down from our ledge and watch it as it whipped out into space. This would give Dennis a three-hundred-foot head start on his long descent and hike. He was in excellent physical shape and we hoped he would make it back to the valley in good time. I prayed that he could avoid injury himself. Another night out in this weather was unthinkable.
The fog was so thick that we quickly lost sight of Dennis as he rappelled down into a cloud. I knew that cloud cover could negate a helicopter rescue. Smart pilots don’t fly into clouds.
Peter and I sat for hours on the ledge with nothing to do had me continuing my introspective thoughts about my life while we waited for something to happen. Dennis was actually doing something but waiting is the hard part.
My deep thoughts were interrupted by a noise. A helicopter! Dennis must have made it back and rallied the troops. The weather was slowly getting better, a lucky break for us. I looked up to see a blue hole in the clouds. We watched with excitement as the copter dropped through the blue hole and began searching for us. I was concerned that they hadn’t seen us when the ship dropped below our level but I felt better when two men exited the copter. Soon, the copter flew back out the hole in the clouds.
We watched as two people climbed towards us. They found the line still in place and used their rope ascenders to facilitate their climb. We were pretty happy when they joined us on the ledge. Words can’t express the relief that I felt.
They were park rangers and immediately attended to Peter and improved the splint. One of them talked on his radio while the other helped Peter put on a mesh jumpsuit with a big metal connector on the belly.
An hour later, I heard the unique slapping sound from the big blades of a Huey helicopter. I knew that sound well after my time in the army. I had flown and rappelled out of the Hueys on many occasions.
We watched excitedly as the Huey descended through the clouds. One of the rangers popped a smoke grenade to pinpoint our location and plume of red smoke would show the pilot the wind direction. A few minutes later, the ship hovered above us and a cable was lowered. A ranger grabbed the hook and clipped it Peter’s rescue suit. A few moments later, I watched him rise up and disappear into the copter. That was a great feeling for both of us.
I had assumed that I would be walking out but the rangers said that I was going out with my pal.
The cable reappeared with a yellow “Horse Collar” and the rangers helped drop the collar over my head and torso below my shoulders. I was told to I keep my hands together and the collar rested under my armpits. We looked up at the Crew Chief who was peering down from above. One of the rangers gave him the “thumbs-up” signal and I began moving up to the Huey. I enjoyed the adventure of the lift plus the bonus of the enjoying the beauty of the remote wilderness from my unique perspective. The exposure was fantastic and I probably had a big smile on my face when the Crew Chief pulled me in and sat me on the metal floor next to Peter. We looked each other in the eyes with a sense of astonishment.
The short flight back to the valley provided some spectacular views and soon we were approaching the ground. I felt the ship’s nose rise when the pilot flared and settled onto the landing pad on a grass meadow a hundred feet from the medical center.
People on the ground wheeled out a gurney for Peter and I jumped out and moved out of the way. The medical people wheeled Peter into the building. I dragged off our haul bag and thanked the crew for their fine work. A minute later, from the ship and onto the gurney. A moment later, they pilot took off as they headed back to China Lake Naval Base.
The sky was clearing and I found myself standing and enjoying the warmth of the sun. How quickly things had changed. I saw Dennis come over and we carried the big bag to the Batmobile.
The first thing we did head over to the laundromat to dry out sleeping bags. We would enjoy sleeping in warm, dry sleeping bags this night which would be a real luxury.
The next day, Dennis took me over to Glacier Point Apron where we climbed some fun, moderate free climbs. It was great to be climbing again and feel like I was getting back to normal.
The next day, after a well-needed rest, we drove to the Medical Center. Peter required surgery on his leg and ankle and we had to get him back home to phoenix for that to occur.
We showed up at his bedside to load him in the back of the Batmobile. We already had the back seat down flat to make him comfortable for the long drive home. As we helped him get out of the bed, we were freaked out when we saw what we thought was shit on the bedsheets. He quickly told us it was pus from the skin that had been sanded down on his long slide.
So much for my climbing expedition. I didn’t get to climb a big wall but I did have a real exciting adventure. I vowed to return next year and make another attempt to climb a big wall.
Back home, I needed a summer job and decided I want to become a framing carpenter. I borrowed a hammer and some nail bags from dad, the master carpenter, who never tried to teach me about his trade.
I hired on with a carpenter crew as an apprentice. The work was hard but gratifying. I was got along with the crew and each day it was gratifying to see our progress.
Each day I looked forward to gaining more skill in my new trade. It was hard work but fun, working together with the other guys, hoisting up walls and trusses and watching each house come together. It was physically demanding work but it kept me in shape for climbing on the weekends.
Things at home hadn’t changed. My wife and her emotional problems continued to drag me. I began to question my religious beliefs. Life would be so much easier if I had a real partner in life.
I decided to stick with carpentry job and put off my final year of school. I smoked weed on occasion with my climbing pals and coworkers and I kept it secret from my wife. I was enjoying smoking weed and thinking of new possibilities for my life. I wasn’t the same man as I was before the Yosemite trip.
The tumultuous tipping point with my wife finally came about after I came home after climbing all day on Christmas Eve. Her insecurities opened the proverbial barn door and I saw that this was my big opportunity for a quick exit. I didn’t hesitate and I made the break. I knew that I was never coming back. I spent the night alone in my tent out in the McDowell mountains. I was lonely at the moment but I knew that life was somehow, going to get better.
After a few days to clear my head, I moved back in to my parent’s house. They weren’t big fans of my wife and were happy for the change. My brother told me that he thought marriage had robbed me of my motivation in life.
New Year’s Day arrived and I knew that 1978 was the year to begin a better life and I was going to start heading in a positive direction.
I was going through my wallet and I found a list of phone numbers from the high school outdoors club that I had occasionally helped teach rock climbing. I noticed a phone number for Dee Wimer, one of the student leaders. I took special notice of her the first day that I worked with the group. She caught my eye and I thought she looked like my ideal woman, a young mountain goddess. I got to know her during numerous climbing days with the group and she always impressed me as mature, energetic, fearless and easy to talk with.
Dee in Yosemite, 1978
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Dee and Roscoe - Tahquitz 1978
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My mom and Grandmother were very strong women and I liked that in a woman. My wife had none of those attributes. I always enjoyed talking with Dee and was impressed with her positive attitude. The more time I spent talking with her, the more I liked her. Because I was married, I never flirted.
I had been acquainted with Dee for almost two years now and she was a college student. Now that I was free of my wife, I felt bold, I gave her a call and asked her out for a dinner and a movie. I thought that she probably had a boyfriend and that she might not want to go out with me because of our age difference of more than six years. I figured that my chances were slim, but I had nothing to lose. I was shocked but overjoyed when she agreed to go out with me.
I went to pick her up at her folk’s place and met the whole family: mom, dad, little sister and Grandma. I was anxious. I assumed that her dad, Ken, would be suspicious of me due to our age difference and having just split up with my wife.
Ken and I had met on top of Pinnacle Peak months ago. I was climbing with a pal that day while the outdoors club group were climbing. Ken seemed young enough to be an older brother and I was surprised that he was cool enough of a dad to be out climbing with his daughter and her gang. My dad and I had a much different relationship. He would have never have gone climbing.
Ken and entire family, were very friendly and put my mind at ease. They all trusted Dee’s decision to go out with me.
We ate at a Mexican restaurant and had conversation like old friends. It was just so easy to be with her. She had such a great attitude and the time seemed to fly by. There was never an awkward moment.
Off to the movie, we saw a rom-com that was just right for our first date. The movie ended happily and provided the perfect moment for our first kiss.
Not ready for the night to end, we went to Minderbinder’s, a funky bar in Tempe. Dee drank me under the table as we learned more about each other and discovered that we had so much in common. We were both the middle child of our broods with moms working in accounting and dads in construction.
We had such a great time but I was due at the jobsite at first light. We finally said goodnight at two AM and planned to be meet up the next night.
We spent most evenings together until I drove her to campus in Flagstaff where spring semester would be starting soon. We loved being together so much that we knew our time apart was going to be lonely. Living in the dorm and no phone, we communicated by mail. Most weekends I drove up north and we spent time cross country skiing.
It was March when I got a call from Dee. Her dad was in the hospital with a heart and she was back in town. She and her dad were best friends and she was so worried. After a few days, Ken’s condition had stabilized and Dee returned north to school.
The family had just moved to a new house and I helped out by moving Ken’s old British sports car over to the house one evening. Sister Darcie had gone with me and when we returned home, we were met by a neighbor who told us that the paramedics had just taken Ken back to the hospital after suffering a Cardiac Arrest. Darcie and I drove to the hospital.
Dee came home the next day and I meet her at the hospital after work. Ken was in a coma and after a couple of weeks with no brain activity, he died. It was a brutal blow to the family and Dee has lost her best friend.
After the funeral, Dee decided that she had missed too much school and not to go back. Her mom wasn’t handling the situation well and Dee felt that she was needed in Phoenix. This episode intensified our relationship and we were becoming closer.
I started to realize that I really loved Dee. It seemed that she was my perfect woman. Everything was just so easy between us. We agreed on everything and loved being together doing anything. It was great that we loved the outdoors. In addition to a girlfriend, I had a new climbing partner. It seemed that I had found a female version of myself. We couldn’t have been happier. I had found my perfect woman. My life was turning around.
I wasn’t climbing much with my old gang. Dennis had somehow changed since his best friend, Peter, came close to death. Peter’s leg was still mending as was Frank Hill who also had a broken leg after a lead fall, shortly after Peters fall. Frank had introduced me to Dee. Frank was out of climbing for good. Lucky for me, I now had a girlfriend who loved to climb. I didn’t have any reason to spend time away from Dee.
I had a burning desire to return Yosemite to climb a big wall in spite of not having a wall partner lined up. I would to go back to Yosemite even if I had to go alone.
Dee asked if she could join me for the trip. She wasn’t up for a big wall with all of the deprivation and suffering required for a wall. I was happy to bring my girlfriend along for the company and I knew that we could do plenty of short fun climbs. I told her that if I found a big wall partner, she would be on her own for several days. Dee was a strong independent woman.
Dee and I went up to Granite Mountain shortly before we would leave for Yosemite so I could get ready by solo climbing a two-pitch aid climb in preparation. After I came down from the climb, I met a couple of climbers. One was a Flagstaff climber and he told me that he would be in the valley at the same time.
Two weeks later, Dee joined me for her first trip to Yosemite. She was just as impressed with the beauty of this magical place as I had been a year ago. We enjoyed climbing the beautiful granite with perfect weather. No rain in the forecast.
While camping at the historic climber’s camp, Camp 4, we ran into Jeff Bowman, who we met just a few weeks ago. His climbing partner, Chip Norton, had gone back home suddenly, his father-in-law has just died. Jeff suggested we team up to climb a big wall. I suggested the West Face of El Capitan based on the glowing narrative of Royal Robbins, who had described the beauty of the route.
A few days later, Dee dropped us off on the road and we started to hike to our climb.
It was a longer and steeper hike than anticipated but we finally dropped our heavy packs at the base and looked up at the two thousand feet of rock above. Very impressive. Not a soul in sight, we had the place to ourselves. We sorted gear and packed the haul bag. I made special attention to putting the water in the bottom. Lesson learned. The first two pitches were aid climbing and the crux of the climb. Since I was the aid climber, I headed up the first pitch.
The first pitch went without any problems. I placed some bombproof anchors at the ledgeless belay and danged in my harness then I hauled the bag and Jeff jugged up the rope, removing the gear that I had placed.
I had the bag secured and piled the haul line so that it would run free as I moved up the next lead. Jeff got comfortable the hanging belay and prepared for a long boring belay session.
My two heavy gear slings were slung over my head and shoulders like two bandoleros. In place of bullets, I was armed with almost every size piton and nut that I might need to fit into a crack, ranging in size from paper thin to bigger than a man’s fist. Logistically, I had everything I needed. Now all I needed was the technical ability, nerves of steel and a bit of luck. Looking up at the crack, I saw it was a long diagonal line leading up and left. I swallowed hard as I unclipped from the belay. No pressure, but if I couldn’t get up the pitch, we would have to go back to camp in failure.
The crack was thin and shallow, but I was able to place a series of tiny nuts that held my weight long enough to make the next placement.
So far so good, but the next move required a placement of my tiniest piton, the size of a postage stamp and an eighth of an inch thick. I used my hammer, gently tapping the tiny piton’s hatchet face into the thin, incipient crack. I hammered it as far as it would go, about a quarter of an inch. I prayed that it would hold my weight as I clipped in my aid stirrup. I used my hand to test it by jerking down on it. It held, so I gently eased my weight on it and was happy that it held for the moment. I then climbed up a few steps of my nylon aider and found a tiny wired aluminum wedge the size of a Q-Tip. I managed to wedge in the thin crack and I held my breath as I stepped up on the nut. Amazingly, it held and I began looking for the next placement above.
Above a long series of shaky placements, the crack disappeared for several feet. I reached up from my top rung and felt a tiny flat surface that might just hold a skyhook. The hook looked like an oversized fish hook and was attached to my aider. As I eased my weight on the hook, I gave thought to the consequences that a fall could unzipper all of the tiny gear below. Luck was with me and the hook held, although it made a grinding sound as if it wasn’t happy.
After another hook placement, I was happy to find a placement for a substantial nut in the crack which had reappeared. I felt this nut would hold a fall and I was able to breathe again after the nerve racking climbing below.
I was overjoyed when I reached the end of the pitch and found good anchors and a small ledge at the belay. We were now past the crux of the climb.
Jeff led the next pitch. He moved up a section of easy aid and then was able to free climb.
I leapfrogged past Jeff at the belay stance to find an easy free pitch that ended on a narrow ledge. Jeff followed as the sun was setting. We settled in for the night on a small but adequate ledge. We watched the sun set while sitting with our backs against the wall and our legs dangling over the abyss. It seemed the classic bivouac ledge for my first night on El Cap.
We shared salami, cheese and peanuts as I told the story of last year’s attempt on Quarter Dome which ended in the helicopter rescue. We spent the evening telling our life stories and getting to know each other. We barely knew each other but shared our goal of climbing El Cap and we were excited to be here!
The next morning, we were a bit stiff from yesterday’s effort, but once we started packing up and stretching, Jeff launched out on the first pitch of the day. We were feeling confident and climbing as a team. The weather was perfect, not a cloud in the sky.
I was dozing in the warm afternoon sun while Jeff labored eighty feet above. He was gaining valuable aid experience on an easy aid pitch. We were both surprised when a nut popped out of the crack under his weight, sending him flying. I was jolted awake when his haul line began hitting my head as he fell. I quickly stopped the short fall. Jeff moved back up and finish his lead.
We found a comfortable ledge late in the afternoon and ending our climbing for the day. It was a vast improvement over the previous ledge. Here, we could stretch out in comfort and actually lay down to sleep. Again, we enjoyed dinner while facing West and enjoying the sunset. We were feeling upbeat. Things were going well and we were making good progress. We were a thousand feet from the ground and exposure of the location was what I had been hoping for.
At first light, I noticed that we had company. A small rodent was hopping around my feet. I had read about wall rats and now, I was actually seeing one. He was small and cut as I watched him scurry around looking for food scraps. I was amazed that such a creature could way up here.
Another day of dawn to dusk climbing. We were enjoyed the variation in climbing. We found smooth rock as well as rock with a rough texture and even sections of rocky knobs that provided great hand and foot holds for face climbing. Up near the top we would climb in chimneys.
At one point, I was following a left-leaning crack that dead ended. I looked up and saw where I should have been. Not too far above, I could see a spike of rock. To save some time, I used the haul line and lassoed the spike which saved time in getting us back on course.
Late that afternoon, we pulled up on a ledge that could accommodate four climbers or more. We still had daylight so I started up a difficult aid pitch that ended in a big dihedral. I hung in slings and hauled the bag. Jeff joined me and we discussed that we only had one more pitch to reach Thanksgiving Ledge, only four free climbing pitches from the top. It was tantalizingly close but with darkness approaching, we decided to rappel back to the lower ledge, leaving the ropes fixed for tomorrow.
It was Friday night and I had told Dee that I would be back by now. I knew that she would be worried but climbs don’t always stay on schedule. She was a tough woman and I knew that she could take care of herself and handle the situation.
After three days of twelve-hour climbing days, we were feeling pretty beat-up. Our hands were coated with black oxidation rubbing off the aluminum carabiners. Our fingers were swollen and the knuckles were painfully nicked. In spite of all of this, we are excited about getting to the summit tomorrow.
When the morning arrived, we were moving slow with exhaustion but we knew that we would soon be on top of the captain.
Jeff moved up the fixed line and hauled the bag as I followed. His lead brought us to Thanksgiving Ledge which wraps around the upper portion of this part of El Cap for hundreds of feet to the right.
With only four pitches to the top, I climb an easy, three-foot-wide chimney. The next three pitches are pretty similar but hauling of the bag became difficult as it kept getting hung up on rocks and bushes. The second would have to help by guiding the bag when it got hung up.
It was the afternoon when I finally joined Jeff on the summit. We were physically spent, but happy to be on top. We still had a long hike ahead of us to get back to camp. We coiled our ropes and packed our gear and headed east and without celebration of our achievement.
Unaware of the much shorter East Ledges route, we headed cross-country without any vestige of a trail that lay under a foot of snow. The forest was beautiful as we stumbled along. Hours later, we encountered a snow-melt filled stream, we knew it would lead us to the top of Yosemite Falls. We found tourists there gawking at the magnificent waterfall and the view of the valley, three thousand feet below.
Down the trail we went back to the valley. It seemed as if the trail might never end. We were exhausted from the past four days effort.
Back to civilization, we still had another couple of miles to our campground. We stumbled along as if we were zombies. A truck pulled over to offer a ride and I was surprised it was someone I knew! Rik from Phoenix! He was a climbing pal who recognized me as he passed. Three more vehicles pulled over; a caravan of Phoenix climbers having just arrived.
I was a day late. Dee was worried and lonely. When we didn’t get back to camp as scheduled, she reported us to the rangers the Saturday morning. They told her that wall climbers were often days late. As the day wore on, she became more worried.
When four vehicles pulled into the campground, she assumed they were looking for a campsite. But when I popped out of Rik’s truck, her fears evaporated.
Dee and I were happily reunited and it was a fun time celebrating our climb with the group. After long hot showers, Dee, Jeff and I went to the Mountain Room at the lodge for a wonderful dinner. Life was good.
A day later I met one of Jeff’s pals, Stan Mish. Stan had just turned eighteen years old and had just climbed the Nose route on El Cap in the past week. He looked like hobo with his tattered and his scraggly beard and mop of hair, but he was an amazing climber of extraordinary talent and drive. I would get to know him better in the next few years. Stan, along with Jeff and Glenn Rink would begin climbing big sandstone towers on the Navajo reservation that started a group known as “Los Banditos”. Eventually, I would be drawn into the group.
Looking back, forty-five years now, I realized what a pivotal year that had been. My life was turning around for the better. I had returned to Yosemite and climbed the first of several big walls there. Dee and I visited the valley more than a dozen times over the years and considered it our spiritual home.
After that 1978 trip, Dee and I moved in together to attend ASU to completed our degrees. Climbing was still our main outdoor focus but would be tempered with the birth of our two daughters. We raised them with the outdoors as a focus and took them into the wild to experience hiking, backpacking and river running. That year was indeed a turning point toward a wonderful life that most would envy.
I had been acquainted with Dee for almost two years now and she was a college student. Now that I was free of my wife, I felt bold, I gave her a call and asked her out for a dinner and a movie. I thought that she probably had a boyfriend and that she might not want to go out with me because of our age difference of more than six years. I figured that my chances were slim, but I had nothing to lose. I was shocked but overjoyed when she agreed to go out with me.
I went to pick her up at her folk’s place and met the whole family: mom, dad, little sister and Grandma. I was anxious. I assumed that her dad, Ken, would be suspicious of me due to our age difference and having just split up with my wife.
Ken and I had met on top of Pinnacle Peak months ago. I was climbing with a pal that day while the outdoors club group were climbing. Ken seemed young enough to be an older brother and I was surprised that he was cool enough of a dad to be out climbing with his daughter and her gang. My dad and I had a much different relationship. He would have never have gone climbing.
Ken and entire family, were very friendly and put my mind at ease. They all trusted Dee’s decision to go out with me.
We ate at a Mexican restaurant and had conversation like old friends. It was just so easy to be with her. She had such a great attitude and the time seemed to fly by. There was never an awkward moment.
Off to the movie, we saw a rom-com that was just right for our first date. The movie ended happily and provided the perfect moment for our first kiss.
Not ready for the night to end, we went to Minderbinder’s, a funky bar in Tempe. Dee drank me under the table as we learned more about each other and discovered that we had so much in common. We were both the middle child of our broods with moms working in accounting and dads in construction.
We had such a great time but I was due at the jobsite at first light. We finally said goodnight at two AM and planned to be meet up the next night.
We spent most evenings together until I drove her to campus in Flagstaff where spring semester would be starting soon. We loved being together so much that we knew our time apart was going to be lonely. Living in the dorm and no phone, we communicated by mail. Most weekends I drove up north and we spent time cross country skiing.
It was March when I got a call from Dee. Her dad was in the hospital with a heart and she was back in town. She and her dad were best friends and she was so worried. After a few days, Ken’s condition had stabilized and Dee returned north to school.
The family had just moved to a new house and I helped out by moving Ken’s old British sports car over to the house one evening. Sister Darcie had gone with me and when we returned home, we were met by a neighbor who told us that the paramedics had just taken Ken back to the hospital after suffering a Cardiac Arrest. Darcie and I drove to the hospital.
Dee came home the next day and I meet her at the hospital after work. Ken was in a coma and after a couple of weeks with no brain activity, he died. It was a brutal blow to the family and Dee has lost her best friend.
After the funeral, Dee decided that she had missed too much school and not to go back. Her mom wasn’t handling the situation well and Dee felt that she was needed in Phoenix. This episode intensified our relationship and we were becoming closer.
I started to realize that I really loved Dee. It seemed that she was my perfect woman. Everything was just so easy between us. We agreed on everything and loved being together doing anything. It was great that we loved the outdoors. In addition to a girlfriend, I had a new climbing partner. It seemed that I had found a female version of myself. We couldn’t have been happier. I had found my perfect woman. My life was turning around.
I wasn’t climbing much with my old gang. Dennis had somehow changed since his best friend, Peter, came close to death. Peter’s leg was still mending as was Frank Hill who also had a broken leg after a lead fall, shortly after Peters fall. Frank had introduced me to Dee. Frank was out of climbing for good. Lucky for me, I now had a girlfriend who loved to climb. I didn’t have any reason to spend time away from Dee.
I had a burning desire to return Yosemite to climb a big wall in spite of not having a wall partner lined up. I would to go back to Yosemite even if I had to go alone.
Dee asked if she could join me for the trip. She wasn’t up for a big wall with all of the deprivation and suffering required for a wall. I was happy to bring my girlfriend along for the company and I knew that we could do plenty of short fun climbs. I told her that if I found a big wall partner, she would be on her own for several days. Dee was a strong independent woman.
Dee and I went up to Granite Mountain shortly before we would leave for Yosemite so I could get ready by solo climbing a two-pitch aid climb in preparation. After I came down from the climb, I met a couple of climbers. One was a Flagstaff climber and he told me that he would be in the valley at the same time.
Two weeks later, Dee joined me for her first trip to Yosemite. She was just as impressed with the beauty of this magical place as I had been a year ago. We enjoyed climbing the beautiful granite with perfect weather. No rain in the forecast.
While camping at the historic climber’s camp, Camp 4, we ran into Jeff Bowman, who we met just a few weeks ago. His climbing partner, Chip Norton, had gone back home suddenly, his father-in-law has just died. Jeff suggested we team up to climb a big wall. I suggested the West Face of El Capitan based on the glowing narrative of Royal Robbins, who had described the beauty of the route.
A few days later, Dee dropped us off on the road and we started to hike to our climb.
It was a longer and steeper hike than anticipated but we finally dropped our heavy packs at the base and looked up at the two thousand feet of rock above. Very impressive. Not a soul in sight, we had the place to ourselves. We sorted gear and packed the haul bag. I made special attention to putting the water in the bottom. Lesson learned. The first two pitches were aid climbing and the crux of the climb. Since I was the aid climber, I headed up the first pitch.
The first pitch went without any problems. I placed some bombproof anchors at the ledgeless belay and danged in my harness then I hauled the bag and Jeff jugged up the rope, removing the gear that I had placed.
I had the bag secured and piled the haul line so that it would run free as I moved up the next lead. Jeff got comfortable the hanging belay and prepared for a long boring belay session.
My two heavy gear slings were slung over my head and shoulders like two bandoleros. In place of bullets, I was armed with almost every size piton and nut that I might need to fit into a crack, ranging in size from paper thin to bigger than a man’s fist. Logistically, I had everything I needed. Now all I needed was the technical ability, nerves of steel and a bit of luck. Looking up at the crack, I saw it was a long diagonal line leading up and left. I swallowed hard as I unclipped from the belay. No pressure, but if I couldn’t get up the pitch, we would have to go back to camp in failure.
The crack was thin and shallow, but I was able to place a series of tiny nuts that held my weight long enough to make the next placement.
So far so good, but the next move required a placement of my tiniest piton, the size of a postage stamp and an eighth of an inch thick. I used my hammer, gently tapping the tiny piton’s hatchet face into the thin, incipient crack. I hammered it as far as it would go, about a quarter of an inch. I prayed that it would hold my weight as I clipped in my aid stirrup. I used my hand to test it by jerking down on it. It held, so I gently eased my weight on it and was happy that it held for the moment. I then climbed up a few steps of my nylon aider and found a tiny wired aluminum wedge the size of a Q-Tip. I managed to wedge in the thin crack and I held my breath as I stepped up on the nut. Amazingly, it held and I began looking for the next placement above.
Above a long series of shaky placements, the crack disappeared for several feet. I reached up from my top rung and felt a tiny flat surface that might just hold a skyhook. The hook looked like an oversized fish hook and was attached to my aider. As I eased my weight on the hook, I gave thought to the consequences that a fall could unzipper all of the tiny gear below. Luck was with me and the hook held, although it made a grinding sound as if it wasn’t happy.
After another hook placement, I was happy to find a placement for a substantial nut in the crack which had reappeared. I felt this nut would hold a fall and I was able to breathe again after the nerve racking climbing below.
I was overjoyed when I reached the end of the pitch and found good anchors and a small ledge at the belay. We were now past the crux of the climb.
Jeff led the next pitch. He moved up a section of easy aid and then was able to free climb.
I leapfrogged past Jeff at the belay stance to find an easy free pitch that ended on a narrow ledge. Jeff followed as the sun was setting. We settled in for the night on a small but adequate ledge. We watched the sun set while sitting with our backs against the wall and our legs dangling over the abyss. It seemed the classic bivouac ledge for my first night on El Cap.
We shared salami, cheese and peanuts as I told the story of last year’s attempt on Quarter Dome which ended in the helicopter rescue. We spent the evening telling our life stories and getting to know each other. We barely knew each other but shared our goal of climbing El Cap and we were excited to be here!
The next morning, we were a bit stiff from yesterday’s effort, but once we started packing up and stretching, Jeff launched out on the first pitch of the day. We were feeling confident and climbing as a team. The weather was perfect, not a cloud in the sky.
I was dozing in the warm afternoon sun while Jeff labored eighty feet above. He was gaining valuable aid experience on an easy aid pitch. We were both surprised when a nut popped out of the crack under his weight, sending him flying. I was jolted awake when his haul line began hitting my head as he fell. I quickly stopped the short fall. Jeff moved back up and finish his lead.
We found a comfortable ledge late in the afternoon and ending our climbing for the day. It was a vast improvement over the previous ledge. Here, we could stretch out in comfort and actually lay down to sleep. Again, we enjoyed dinner while facing West and enjoying the sunset. We were feeling upbeat. Things were going well and we were making good progress. We were a thousand feet from the ground and exposure of the location was what I had been hoping for.
At first light, I noticed that we had company. A small rodent was hopping around my feet. I had read about wall rats and now, I was actually seeing one. He was small and cut as I watched him scurry around looking for food scraps. I was amazed that such a creature could way up here.
Another day of dawn to dusk climbing. We were enjoyed the variation in climbing. We found smooth rock as well as rock with a rough texture and even sections of rocky knobs that provided great hand and foot holds for face climbing. Up near the top we would climb in chimneys.
At one point, I was following a left-leaning crack that dead ended. I looked up and saw where I should have been. Not too far above, I could see a spike of rock. To save some time, I used the haul line and lassoed the spike which saved time in getting us back on course.
Late that afternoon, we pulled up on a ledge that could accommodate four climbers or more. We still had daylight so I started up a difficult aid pitch that ended in a big dihedral. I hung in slings and hauled the bag. Jeff joined me and we discussed that we only had one more pitch to reach Thanksgiving Ledge, only four free climbing pitches from the top. It was tantalizingly close but with darkness approaching, we decided to rappel back to the lower ledge, leaving the ropes fixed for tomorrow.
It was Friday night and I had told Dee that I would be back by now. I knew that she would be worried but climbs don’t always stay on schedule. She was a tough woman and I knew that she could take care of herself and handle the situation.
After three days of twelve-hour climbing days, we were feeling pretty beat-up. Our hands were coated with black oxidation rubbing off the aluminum carabiners. Our fingers were swollen and the knuckles were painfully nicked. In spite of all of this, we are excited about getting to the summit tomorrow.
When the morning arrived, we were moving slow with exhaustion but we knew that we would soon be on top of the captain.
Jeff moved up the fixed line and hauled the bag as I followed. His lead brought us to Thanksgiving Ledge which wraps around the upper portion of this part of El Cap for hundreds of feet to the right.
With only four pitches to the top, I climb an easy, three-foot-wide chimney. The next three pitches are pretty similar but hauling of the bag became difficult as it kept getting hung up on rocks and bushes. The second would have to help by guiding the bag when it got hung up.
It was the afternoon when I finally joined Jeff on the summit. We were physically spent, but happy to be on top. We still had a long hike ahead of us to get back to camp. We coiled our ropes and packed our gear and headed east and without celebration of our achievement.
Unaware of the much shorter East Ledges route, we headed cross-country without any vestige of a trail that lay under a foot of snow. The forest was beautiful as we stumbled along. Hours later, we encountered a snow-melt filled stream, we knew it would lead us to the top of Yosemite Falls. We found tourists there gawking at the magnificent waterfall and the view of the valley, three thousand feet below.
Down the trail we went back to the valley. It seemed as if the trail might never end. We were exhausted from the past four days effort.
Back to civilization, we still had another couple of miles to our campground. We stumbled along as if we were zombies. A truck pulled over to offer a ride and I was surprised it was someone I knew! Rik from Phoenix! He was a climbing pal who recognized me as he passed. Three more vehicles pulled over; a caravan of Phoenix climbers having just arrived.
I was a day late. Dee was worried and lonely. When we didn’t get back to camp as scheduled, she reported us to the rangers the Saturday morning. They told her that wall climbers were often days late. As the day wore on, she became more worried.
When four vehicles pulled into the campground, she assumed they were looking for a campsite. But when I popped out of Rik’s truck, her fears evaporated.
Dee and I were happily reunited and it was a fun time celebrating our climb with the group. After long hot showers, Dee, Jeff and I went to the Mountain Room at the lodge for a wonderful dinner. Life was good.
A day later I met one of Jeff’s pals, Stan Mish. Stan had just turned eighteen years old and had just climbed the Nose route on El Cap in the past week. He looked like hobo with his tattered and his scraggly beard and mop of hair, but he was an amazing climber of extraordinary talent and drive. I would get to know him better in the next few years. Stan, along with Jeff and Glenn Rink would begin climbing big sandstone towers on the Navajo reservation that started a group known as “Los Banditos”. Eventually, I would be drawn into the group.
Looking back, forty-five years now, I realized what a pivotal year that had been. My life was turning around for the better. I had returned to Yosemite and climbed the first of several big walls there. Dee and I visited the valley more than a dozen times over the years and considered it our spiritual home.
After that 1978 trip, Dee and I moved in together to attend ASU to completed our degrees. Climbing was still our main outdoor focus but would be tempered with the birth of our two daughters. We raised them with the outdoors as a focus and took them into the wild to experience hiking, backpacking and river running. That year was indeed a turning point toward a wonderful life that most would envy.
Dave Roscoe Hodson and Dee
Heading to the Beanfest at the Stronghold, 1984
Heading to the Beanfest at the Stronghold, 1984