A Day on the Trip

"To apply human standards of measurement to this monarch of mountains is sacrilege. To attempt by mere words and figures to convey some idea of its stupendous massiveness, its nobly-defiant impressive individuality is rankest folly." -- Herbert Earl Wilson, writing about El Capitan, 1926 A Day on the Trip: November 12, 1996 by B. B. Bindner A barely-perceptible fading of the night in the eastern sky heralds daybreak. The world is a vast bowl of darkness; the jet-black presence of massive rock walls above, and to all sides, blotting out half the milky way. A Bibler hanging stove is suspended in space below a blue portaledge, clipped to the outside corner by a single oval carabiner. Wisps of steam waft from the pot, drifting into predawn gloom. The scent of fresh brewing coffee mingles with myriad other odors-- cold granite, crisp morning air, capilene and climber sweat, climbing shoes, honey, bagels and cliff bars. The sssshhhhh of the stove and the slight rustle of nylon sound loudly in the silence as we steal a few more moments of quiet slumber before the activities of the day begin. The bright stars overhead are washed away by the incoming tide of morning. Thus begins our fifth day climbing Tangerine Trip on El Capitan in Yosemite Valley. Eric Coomer, Craig Francois, and I slowly stir from our snooze, eyelids heavy, unwilling to move and yet unwilling to face the consequences of excessive delay. Sluggish consciousness brings a gradual awareness of our location on portaledges perched in the sky. Two thousand feet below, the hungry chasm of air ends at trees dwarfed by distance, at jumbles of house-sized boulders now so far below us as to resemble grains of sand. Emphasizing the intensity of exposure, ropes hang free in lazy space below: Occasional sine-waves from our slight movements travel down the strands, to reflect off the looped ends and back up to us, echoes of our own presence returning to their origins through a vast engulfment of emptiness. As the lightening sky slowly takes on visible pastels, Eric extends a hand over the edge of the ledge to the brewing coffee, our brief hiatus from the intensity of this climb coming to an end. It's time to begin what we hope will be our last day on the wall. Craig, already well-awake in the morning twilight, peers past an incredibly tangled jumble of equipment, ropes, slings, and water bottles, up the overhanging curtain of rock, probing the mysteries of the next pitch with anxious eyes. It will be his lead. Still groggy, we carefully prepare for the day ahead. Each simple, routine task demands full attention. Decanting coffee into day bottles, munching a bagel, taking a dump, swilling gatorade, puttering and packing gear all have once again become incredibly significant activities, upon which our very survival depends. Dreams of frolics in sunlit swimming holes, of pizza and merry-go-rounds are soon forgotten as the day gains momentum. It's time to move. The yellow-white sun peeks over the tree-lined rim of the eastern horizon, much as it has since the dawn of time. Today could very well be the first day of the world. The new valley floor, and beyond that the universe, freshly created, spread out sparkling before us, waiting to be explored. By the time breakfast and morning rituals are completed in the bright daylight, Craig has sorted the rack for his lead. Eric takes a front row seat on the belay chair and cranks up the tunes. "Rumble in Brighton Tonight" echoes off the golden-hued, glowing granite as Craig starts up a series of rivets, bolts, dowels, and hooks. We have four more pitches to the summit, and one day of supplies remaining. It will be close. Far across the wall, Willie and Damien Benegas are pausing for a moment, watching the sun/shadow line sweep across Dawn Wall. They, and one other poor soul, started yesterday and climbed through the night. They will top out this evening on Mescalito after a 32-hour speed ascent. As Eric sorts through equipment within his reach, I begin dismantling Craig's portaledge. Suddenly the un- ////////////////////////////// "FALLING!!!" mistakable jangle of /////////////////////////// The fall goes on and airborne carabiners \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ on.... far too long. interrupts the routine \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ Slack, too much slack tasks of the morning. ///////////////////////// in a huge loop out in Our eyes snap upward ///////////////////space near Craig, to see Craig whipping \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\stacked under zero through the air, \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ gravity. The tenuous earth-bound. Eric \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/////\\\\\\ ladder of rivets Craig hunkers on the belay\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\///\\\\\\\ was climbing is seat............ ///////////////////////////////////////// shearing out, the tiny In slow motion I see/////////////////////////// blobs of aluminum no his hands fumbling the \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ match for the forces ropes, searching for//////////////////////////of the fall. Craig the lead line. I hear/////////////////////////////hits the end of the him mutter "oh god..." ///////////////////////// rope like a marlin Eric catapults upward////////////////////////// striking a lure... and to the limits of his\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\stops, mid-scream, anchor, the Gri-Gri \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\level with the belay, having flawlessly \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\10 feet out from the arrested the fall.\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\wall. The fall is over 1.5 seconds after it began. Craig slowly rights himself, shaken but apparently unhurt. "Everybody OK?" I ask. Both Eric and Craig reply in the affirmative. "COOOOOL FALLL, DUDE!!!" I shout. Howls of appreciation echo across to us from the Benegas brothers on Mescalito, who witnessed the entire spectacle. Craig digs out his ascenders, and resumes the lead, drilling new rivets past the scene of the damage. Once back on the sharp end, he informs us that a sling broke, and two rivets sheared. What finally held his fall was a bolt and Yates Screamer to absorb the shock. The stitching on the screamer is blown completely. Entertainment over, I continue the task at hand... packing the remaining gear, stowing the ledges, cinching the haul bags for hoisting. Efficiency and economy of motion, effective utilization of the passing seconds, is our prescription for success. Just as I finish the last of my preparations, Craig's "OFF BELAY" floats through the air. Craig establishes the anchors at the next station, as we swing into high gear. I am ready to jumar. Eric lowers me out from the belay and eventually cuts me loose. I spin slowly in space as I swing across the wall, El Capitan and the sky drifting lazily past my field of vision. Our three haul bags are enroute and Eric is cleaning next pitch by the time I finish the jumar. Craig pauses hauling, and we transfer what gear is left over from his lead. Jug. Haul. Flake ropes. All too soon, I swim up a string of rivets and ancient, hangerless quarter-inch bolts reminiscent of Craig's 40-foot whipper. As Eric jugs and cleans the previous pitch, I ooze up the blank, overhanging wall through a series of hook placements into unprotected 5.9 free climbing. Eventually I flop belly-first onto a brushy belay ledge, having combined pitches in a 200-foot, hours-long struggle. Only one more pitch, 5.6, separates us from the rim. Eric swings into action, disposing of this section so quickly I can hardly pay out the rope fast enough. To be sure, it is time to be done. After muscling the haul bags up the final slabs, we re-unite at the rim in late afternoon of an overcast fall day. The sun backlights the twisted form of a solitary pine tree, deepening evening light setting each pine needle ablaze with a fiery incandescence. Another wall has ended. Tomorrow's spine-crushing loads and foot-bruising descent are far from our minds as we sort gear and coil ropes. Without spoken word we three pause as one, no activities directed toward the climb, no concerns for the moment, and as if for the first time, watch an orange-red sun, distant beyond vast granite walls, slip between crimson cloud blankets into the silence of the night. END