July 2006

Boat Building will re-commence mid August but in the meantime here is a report on Big Wall climbing in Yosemite.

High Tension On The Leaning Tower by Andrew H White

I am 1,500 feet off the ground. I’m in a hurry, we’ve a lot of rock to climb today. I place a small aluminium wedge into the 8 mm crack in front of me, I’m already up at full stretch on tip toes. I can’t quite see the wedge (called a ‘wire’) into the crack but I clip a karabiner into it, attach two nylon steps and gingerly step into them. The wedge slides down then jams. I slowly put all my weight on it. It’s holding, then I gently bounce on it - yeah - she’s good, what’s known as a bomber. I now quickly climb to the top of the nylon steps. Full stretch again I ignore a really good spot for another wire, we must reach the next site where we can suspend our hanging frame tent, a portaledge, from the cliff face still several hundred feet above us before dark … its now lunchtime. My girlfriend Janice and I are alone on this massive face.

I place the next ‘wire’. Again I can’t see it properly. It’s tiny, maybe only 3 mm wide. I clip in the nylon steps and step into it. It slips out - I’m at full stretch. My straight legs cannot absorb the shock as I drop onto the lower wire, it pops out too. Now I’m off, plunging straight down - shit I’m falling, everything’s rushing. I feel the rope tighten and then … ‘pop’ another wire comes out. The rope slackens, I’m still falling, further - shit. I sense something else is wrong, my right foot is cold - I do not recognise that sensation - then I realise what has happened, my shoe has fallen off.

The rope tightens again. This time it continues like a bungee jump. The rush downward halts. I’m now going up, from being weightless I’m now feeling a massive force slowing me and 30 kgs of climbing gear around my waist pulls me in two. I crash into the rock face, ow that hurt. I bounce off and slam in again. Instinctively I look down … that treacherous bastard, there it goes drifting, slowly free falling in a spiral down, down 1,500 ft. I watch it disappear. I look down at Jan 100 ft below, wide eyed we look at each other "I’ve lost my fucking shoe". "My fucking shoe’s fallen off!" I have read stories of guys dropping shoes on ‘Big Walls’ and the subsequent mashing of flesh and bone on the granite has left them crippled; the ones that got off alive. Fuck, why do I read?

Jan looks worried. I look up and wonder just what stopped my fall - is it about to come out? I look at the rope - has it been almost cut through rubbing against the rock? I can’t tell, worse I can’t continue without my shoe. We do not have enough rope left for Jan to lower me back down to her. Anyway the rock face is so shear it overhangs and I would be unable to reach her. "Are you OK?" Jan yells. "Yeah" I reply "I’ve lost my fucking shoe". I need a plan. I have to finish the pitch maybe another 60 feet of climbing; I’ve just fallen 20 feet. I need a shoe.

This is an epic now. We are in the Yosemite National Park, California, home to some of the world’s most impressive water falls and largest cliffs; some over 5,000 feet high - most parachute jumps start from 4,000 feet! We are on our second day’s climbing on The Leaning Tower, a wall of granite 2,500 feet high that overhangs by about 150 feet from its base to the top. We had walked up from the Bridal Veil Falls car park for two hours over rough boulders each carrying our own body weight in food, water and equipment. Sleeping at the base of the climb we both dreamt of waking to find a bear chewing off our toes because it cannot reach our food hanging up in the nearby tree.

At dawn we had started climbing. Each rope length off the ground made us realise what a serious route this was - it overhangs so much, abseiling down would be as difficult as continuing up. That first night we spent 600 feet up suspended in the portaledge off the wall, nothing but space under us, even our petrol stove hung off the wall. Big wall climbing is weird - you live on a different plane, vertical becomes normal. Your rope and equipment the only things to keep you alive together with your wits.

Mild disaster struck on the first night - a bottle containing 10 litres of water detached from our safety line and swooshed away into the dark - gone. Now we only had 6 litres left for 2 days. We had to hurry, by the time we reached the top we would be suffering from dehydration and that makes you sloppy - sloppy climbers don’t get old. Hence the reason for so much haste the second day, but that makes you cut corners and I had just paid the rap.

A shoe - all I need is a shoe, any old shoe. Then I remember a roll of wide carpet tape and an empty plastic water bottle. I shouted to Jan to look in the ‘pig’ our euphemism for the massive bag we haul all our food and sleeping gear up in. She tied the items up in a small bag and attached them to the rope. I soon had them in my hand. With a knife I cut a section out of the Gatoraide bottle and as chance would have it with an extra pair of socks on it made an almost perfect size 10 plastic shoe. Its wide neck perfect for my big toe and strong enough to climb in.

Gingerly I set off shaking now with fear and shock the by-products of a huge adrenaline rush. An hour later I had reached the safety of the next belay where I could attach myself to the rock and Jan could join me. We had a quick and frank discussion of options. Cloud was building up, it was late about 4.00 pm. There was at least 4 hours climbing ahead to reach a good spot to sleep. Retreat was not possible; if the weather broke on us we might well freeze to death as there was still plenty of snow about. We had to continue. My shoe was OK but I was still shaky. The next 200 feet of rock were the hardest of the whole route, a massive roof of rock some 15 feet wide jutted out from the face above. Harder than Jan had ever experienced but she would have to go first, my shoe was not good enough and by now I was not up to it.

She set off bravely with a torch attached to her helmet ready for the darkness at 6.00 pm. Yep I really love her, she was going to save the day. For three hours Jan battled with the face. The cloud rolled in, separating us from each other and the rest of the world. By the time Jan reached the bivouac site it was dark. I heard a shout - she must be at it now, so I unclipped and started to climb. I was hanging on a thin rope, suspended out over 2,000 feet off the ground in the pitch black. The cloud had cleared and I could see car lights shining far below. All I had was my head torch as I sickeningly spun around floating on a fine thread. When I finally reached the belay, Jan already had the portaledge up and most of the gear out. After eating, it was almost midnight - a long tortuous day.

Day three dawned and we made a very early start. We had no water left today so we had to finish - only 300 feet to the summit. Jan led the difficult rock corner and roof. By midday we were on the top, a narrow blade of rock 2,500 feet above the valley. As a parting gift we found 2 litres of water in a bottle on the summit, left by a previous party. For the rest of the day we abseiled and walked back down the far side of The Leaning Tower.

That night it began to snow; 48 hours later climbers trapped on big faces were being pulled off by helicopter all over the valley - except they could not have reached the overhanging Leaning Tower.

Life is sweet when you live near the edge.

Incidentally, as we walked beneath the massive face I stumbled across my shoe, smack in the middle of the path. Just as well, since I wanted to return them to the shop; they were 5 days old and the sole was coming off!