Day One
(written June, 2003, and revised September 28, 2006)

I woke up spontaneously at 4:25, rested and ready. I had set the alarm clock for 4:30, so the $12.95 for an alarm clock was a wasted expense. I turned it off and packed up everything, cleaned up the tent, dropped off the keys at checkout, moved everything from the tent 705 bear locker to the storage bear locker. I packed all my stuff out to my car. Yosemite can be mighty quiet at 4:30 am. Some of my equipment was already in it. I got into my car and slowly drove out of the Curry parking lot. The air was cold, moist, and a pack of coyotes were barking back and forth around the Valley. Quite a sendoff, and I enjoyed it as I drove over to El Cap Meadow. Ken was waiting by his truck when I got there at 5:30 a.m. I pulled out a basket of fresh strawberries I had purchased as I crossed the Central Valley and we went over the plan. We would make two trips to the base of El Cap. It was obvious Ken had a lot on his mind.

We dropped our gear off at the trailhead and then pulled our cars over to a safe area. A short hike and we were at the gear. Ken had decided to break his load into two since I was going to have to make two trips. The first trip would be with smaller packs, which we would unload att he base and then carry the packs down, empty. The second load would be the haul bags. We shouldered our loads. Mine was so heavy Ken had to help me shoulder it, but I could walk OK. Maybe "waddle" would be a better term. Ken took much more. We started along the road but after 100 yards the trail bends away into the forest and then starts to climb. The trail is quite clear, except for a few branching points, and winds up the talus through the trees and some boulders, increasing in steepness until it is basically rock hopping. You watch your footing here. It is only about a fifteen-minute walk from the base. One of the things about El Capitan is it is the biggest granite monolith right next to a road.

My load was heavy. Period. Ken moved along at a good rate, but I was proud just to be standing and putting one foot in front of the other. I don't know how much it was, but 65 pounds is not an excessive load for me. I would guess it was 75 or more. Ken was really worried about things. He knew there were four parties ahead of us, two on sickle ledge, which is the bottom of the route, so they might be in our way or drop rocks on us. We knew that there were two groups from the Meadow headed this way, as well as one of the other guides was going to come later today and try to fix to Sickle Ledge and then repel back down and come back up the next day. So, El Capitan has a traffic jam. The traffic jam is primarily on the Nose. (When we got off, there were eight parties on the route. There are only six sleeping ledges and half of those are terrible. So it is a challenge.)

Ken was really uptight and concentrating. It is his responsibility that everything goes right. He is concerned about my safety as well as making sure all the equipment if right, because you can’t get up there and figure out you have forgotten something. He was very tense, not unpleasant, just tense. Really focussed.

The level ground rapidly changed to uphill and then to modestly steep uphill granite rubble, which required some navigation and attention to foot placement. The hike was not long, but Ken was far ahead and often out of sight, and the trail took a lot of concentration, to keep upright, to keep moving, to place your foot right. The last part before the base of the cliff itself is sort of third class, with a short stretch around a boulder with a drop off to the side. You pay very close attention here. When we got to the bottom of the route, there was another climber already there!

A moment's glance showed Ken, however, that this was just a climbing bum who wanted a free campsite for the night: he had no big wall gear. We dumped our loads and turned around for the valley floor. We picked up our second loads, Ken again having to help me with mine. He headed off, thinking that I should know the way now (having been up so many times, right!), and was soon lost to sight. I was left with the mind game of "don't give up, it is only a little way further", as I forced my way up the trail. I needed to rest, but did not dare put the pack down or I would not have it gotten up on my shoulders again. I found a few rocks where I could rest the pack and take some weight off my legs. I kept hoping that Ken would come back to help, but I found that he had his hands full racking for the climb.

Climbing is both like and unlike camping. On a climb, you only have what you take. You cannot rummage around in the bushes and find a helpful stick, rock, etc. If you forget something, you are out. And you only have a limited amount of access to your gear: the rest is buried in the haulbag. If you want something, it is an amazing amount of effort to get it out, since you are dangling from a rope (skip the idea of standing on a ledge, you get only a few of these in the next 6 days), and you must always be on your guard not to drop anything (you can pick it up in a week, when you are down at the bottom again). Planning each move is essential.

We get into our harnesses, check each other, tie into the rope, check each other, set up a belay, place the haul bags in a place where I can handle them and have them ready to haul. Ken heads up, and we are off.

At the end of the first pitch, he makes an anchor, ties in, I take him off belay, and he sets up the haul system. Basically it is a pulley with a cam to prevent the rope from sliding back down. The anchor it is tied to is three points of protection, with a rope attached in such a way to equalize the force on each anchor, as well as to keep the load from shifting if one anchor fails. Ken puts all his might into hauling on the rope, I put all my might into getting the bags over a bush to be directly inline with the pulley, and nothing happens. Just grunting and sweating, but the haul bags are too heavy for the two of us to move them. Nice start.

With more grunting and sweating, they move a little. We are getting rather tired from using absolutely all our strength at each shove, and it is taxing. The bags finally move up the rock a bit, then stop. Ken tells me to come on up and we can both haul from the top. I undo the belay anchor, rack the hardware, set up my Jumars, check it all, then take of jugging. I move up easily, as I have practiced this and exposure is not an issue. Yet.

I get to the top, but Ken does not let me tie in to the anchor. Instead, I stay on belay and clip my Jumars onto the haul line. He puts his weight as well on the down line, but even our combined weight does not move the bag. Swearing at it and realizing why it is called "the pig", we both pull with all our might downhill. Now you have to get a picture of this: here I am about 150 feet up El Cap, and I am hanging out on the wall, pulling with all my might DOWNHILL. This becomes routine for each pitch, with more interesting air below me when we are 2000 feet up. Imagine being up that high, then imagine dangling out on the vertical rock, pulling DOWN, the very direction that makes your stomach tie up in knots. Now you are beginning to understand.

We get the pig up to the pulley and tie it off. Then Ken looks at the haul rope and realizes that the cam on the pulley has cut the rope in at least a half a dozen places. Great! Up El Cap with holes in your rope! Ken is as sanguine as ever, just comments, "Dave, I think we ought to repel down, take a run to the Mountain Shop, they will be open about now, buy ourselves another rope and another hauling pulley, and get back here before anyone takes our place." We rap down, trot down the trail, sprint for his truck, and skedaddle to the Mountain Shop. No pullies available, they are sold out. Ken scrounges one from a fellow guide, I tear off to the Gift Shop and buy some sandwiches and drinks, we guzzle and nosh as we drive back, hop on our fixed ropes and jug up. With only a few hours wasted, we are off again like a herd of turtles.

Next: Day Two