University Wall, second free ascent

"The Wall of The Way Honed"

The crux looms above me like an impending thunderstorm and I realize I'm not going to shake this pump. I reset my feet in the wide stem and chalk up again, calves burning from the strain. Forty feet of full on, great guns liebacking has brought me to this miserable excuse for a rest and I'm flaming out already. More of a pause in transition than a real rest. "Watch me good Phillip, here goes" I croak, and launch left out of the corner, underclinging and scuttling like a demented crab. I reach blindly up under the flake and grope for the chockstone, "Got it", hang in there, clip the pin, more chalk and now the crucial move. Pull the feet up high and reach out left for a funky fist jam, "Stick baby, stick" I moan and crank up, cross over with the right hand and grab the flake edge just as I'm about to barndoor off into space. I match hands on the flake, lieback into a standing position, pivot wildly 180 degrees into the flared chimney and press myself back into it's secure depths. I close my eyes and let my breath come in deep, lung rasping gasps. When my breathing finally slows, I open my eyes to see the morning sun on the peaks above Squamish through a snowy veil of chalk dust. Looking down I see the haul line hanging crazily out in space and arcing back into the corner where Phillip is huddled at his hanging belay. Truly a spectacular predicament. My mind drifts and I think back to all it's taken to get here once again.

The 600 meter Grand Wall of the Squamish Chief hangs over Hwy. 99, an immense tapestry of discontinuous flake systems and weird dykes in somber hues of grey and white. Most of it's vast expanse is characterized by a lack of obvious weakness and would appear to be the sole domain of the aid climber. But near it's left edge a phenomenal dihedral rises out of the rainforest and soars to within 50 meters of Dance Platform, a large tree ledge some 400 meters above the ground. Above Dance another left facing corner system wanders another 125 meters to broad tree ledges below the South Summit, the Roman Chimneys of the original Baldwin Cooper route. These two corner systems combine to form the most simple and direct line on the Grand.

In 1966, five years after Baldwin and Cooper's epic first ascent of the Grand; Tim Auger, Hamish Mutch, Dan Tate and Glen Woodsworth nailed that amazing corner to produce one of Squamish's most classic aid routes. Not only did they climb the most obvious line on the Grand, but they placed a mere 11 bolts, a far cry from Baldwin and Coopers 136 bolt drillfest. Being students at the University of BC, they elected to call their route University Wall. For most aspiring Squamish aid climbers "U Wall" was the next step after the Baldwin Cooper in the progression to harder wall routes. Steep but technically easy aid and an obligatory hammock bivy combined to give that "big wall" experience essential for the Chief's harder nail ups and the big El Cap routes.

In the summer of 82 Peter Croft, Hamish Fraser and Greg Foweraker set to work attempting to free U Wall. Their enthusiasm was greeted with skepticism for the most part. The first pitch was guarded by a perennially gruesome slime streak and the second pitch featured Leeper stacks in a doubly overhanging dihedral. Undaunted by our pessimism, the team hiked up and across Bellygood and cleaned and freed the last two pitches to Dance. The last pitch was a particularly gnarly finger traverse on a thin flake. Satisfied with their progress they then laid siege to the initial pitches.

The first pitch sported arts and crafts through the slime streak, a burly barndoor lieback and a flying armbar into a shallow bomb bay chimney. The blank dihedral on the second pitch was cleverly bypassed via an undercling to an overhanging flared chimney to the left. Hamish and Greg tried that thing to no avail so Peter, who had by now transformed himself into a apelike creature from years of training, subdued the beastly undercling and gained a stance in the flared chimney. A short, desperate pitch up the remainder of the chimney found the first real ledge and access back to the original aid line.

Confident that the way to Dance was now possible, they fixed ropes and called it a day. The following morning they jumarred their lines and continued to Dance taking some fine whippers along the way. Deteriorating weather and flaming forearms made the Bellygood escape more palatable than continuing up the already freed Roman Chimneys so the team headed down, exuberant at their success. It was an outstanding achievement that left everyone amazed but Peter knew there was a final step to be taken, a continuous free ascent of the entire U Wall-Roman Chimneys combination. He returned later with Hamish and they swung leads to the summit for the first free ascent of the Grand Wall of the Squamish Chief. It was a landmark in Squamish climbing history and U Wall now ranked as one of the most difficult long free routes in North America.

For three years U Wall remained unrepeated and there was much speculation as to who would or could repeat it. We all swore we were going to train ourselves into killer shape and crank the thing off but alas, no amount of drinking or reefing could produce the necessary courage or strength. Still, there it was, tantalizing and so seemingly unattainable. Finally for lack of anything better, I went up there and flung myself at the first pitch and it flung me back. But I persisted and with the help of a variety of partners, was eventually able to lead the first three pitches without leaping off. So, confident of the possibility of success, I enlisted the illustrious Melvin Fish for the "Big Assault". We agreed that I would lead the first three pitches and he would jumar to save strength for the rest of the route. The plan worked and I led the second and third as one, trashing myself in the process and gladly leaving Fish to lead the roof pitch. We persevered through the day and late afternoon found us supine at the base of the gnarly finger traverse. And gnarly it was as several tries later, I dragged my scrawny frame across on melting fingers and collapsed on Dance utterly spent. Any thought of finishing up the Roman Chimneys vanished with my strength on that traverse, so Fish and I fled across Bellygood and down to Squamish for beers and pizza. I was incredibly happy with our success, after all, it was the first "human ascent" of the "Wall of the Way Honed". But it became more apparent that it was only a partial success that indicated a greater possibility. Like Peter and Hamish I knew I'd have to return and climb the entire route to the summit.

The summer passed and the drudgery of logging became my daily reality once again. As the new year approached a resolve grew within me to return to that school of higher learning and attempt to graduate with my degree in crankeneering. So I drove myself to train through the late winter and spring.

I had been climbing hard, or at least finding the climbing hard since February so by the time the heat of the Squamish summer arrived I felt ready to attempt U Wall once more. Then came an unseen hurdle; finding a partner. The few capable people were either off in the mountains or too put off by last years shenanigans to go up there again. Dave Lane was keen, but that funky fist jam just wouldn't stick for him. We went up a couple times, Dave's left hand sporting exotic tape jobs, but all for nought. We had previously agreed that failure on either of the first two pitches would preclude continuing so, despondent, we slithered back down through space and hiked down to Psyche Ledge where we glowered at the route and drank warm beer with a vengeance. Dave went home and I hung out at the Ledge with Big Jim and Phillip van Wassenaer. As we smoked and slandered the afternoon away a grandiose plan emerged from the murky depths of my cerebrum. I turned to Phillip with a big stony grin and queried "Done much jumarring?". My drift wasn't lost on him and to my astonishment, he immediately agreed to come along for the ride. He explained he was off with a sore shoulder and hard free climbing was out of the question anyway. I was ecstatic and told him we would rendezvous at 04:30 the next morning. The early start would allow for generous rests between pitches and ample daylight for the Roman Chimneys finish.

Well, 4:30 had come and gone three hours ago and there we were, perched on a ledge atop the second pitch, howling a the exposure. The chimney after the crux had left me soaked in sweat and nauseous from the exertion, but I was keen. Once again I had fired those two big, burly pitches and now it was merely a question of finding the right pace to survive the rest of the route. Above us the wall kicked back to vertical and appeared inviting compared to the overhanging terrain below. Quaffing one last drink of water I started up the corner, smearing chalk in perfect fingerlocks, clipping fixed pins and enjoying great position. All too soon the cruising was over and I was hunched under the roof trying to remember the sequence. I finally committed myself and thrashed out around the lip and clambered over mossy flakes to the lone cedar belay. As I arranged the anchors with twitching arms, the doubts began to assail me. The supposedly easier roof pitch had seemed desperate and the cumulative effect of all that hard climbing was beginning to make itself apparent. My arms felt stretched and leaden and I was woozy and light headed from all the effort. Soon Phillip was at the belay in a tangle of aiders and jumars and as we lap coiled our ropes and organized the rack, I spoke of my uncertainty. "Don't sweat it man, it's in the bag" he explained. "We'll just rest here a while and you'll be alright, besides, the next pitch is only 10c, it'll be casual." So we rested and ate and rested some more and I tried to regain my psyche. Knowing we couldn't hang out forever, I tightened my shoes and started up out of the tree; chimney into offwidth, offwidth into lieback. I just couldn't repress that funk and found myself grabbing the wrong gear off the rack and thrutching badly. Suddenly I was off the rock and on the rope. Anger and self reproach welled up inside me and I leapt back into the lieback in a rage and muscled up into the lower angled corner. "Get it together dude you can do this thing" I told myself. "Just quit wanking and start cranking!" As I jammed and bridged up the laid back corner, my confidence returned and I felt as though I had crossed a psychological threshold, ironically on one of the easiest pitches on the route. Somehow I knew we'd be alright and nothing would stop us now.

"Off belay, rope's fixed Phil", I yelled down, and commenced to dragging our pack up. Until now it had behaved rather well and floated along behind us, but it became reluctant and slithered into a chimney and refused to move. I sympathized with it and, rather than tearing it's haul loop off, waited till Phil could clear it. At last we were all happily reunited at the belay where we ate and drank and gazed at the trees on Dance Platform only a 100 meters above. The first vestiges of excitement could be felt now and I racked up for my favorite kind of climbing, pure bridging off RPs. I smeared as many palm prints on the rock as I could and festooned the corner with tiny wires, grinning down at Phillip all the while. A manly finger traverse led left to a mantle off a wobbly guillotine of a flake and a footsy traverse back right ensured maximum rope drag for the final moves to the belay. As I lounged on the ledge, the sun broke over the rim and the Royal Hudson clattered out from behind the Malemute, shrieking and trailing a plume of steam and smoke. Simply Grand!

A fun hand traverse angled up and right past a wealth of fixed gear to an even bigger ledge at the base of the gnarly finger traverse. I wasn't even going to give myself a chance to get psyched out, so no sooner did Phillip arrive at the belay than I was off in a flurry of chalk dust and quickdraws. The training must have paid off because I flew across that thing like a man possessed and scrambled onto the broad expanse of the Dance Platform. Whooping and hollering like an inebriated Indian I lashed the rope to a sturdy hemlock, dragged up our pack and commenced to preparing lunch. Phillip wasted little time in cleaning the pitch and we took off our shoes and enjoyed the mutilated remains of our lunch in the heat of the afternoon sun. "Only four more pitches and this hound is in the bag Phillip" I exclaimed and we we grinned, belched and waxed expansive.

Eventually we pried ourselves from the comfort of Dance and ambled up some mellow fourth. Then a full 50 meters of all that is great about Squamish climbing established us on the chockstone in the Roman Chimneys and the excitement kept building. As the summit grew nearer, I slowed to savour the last of the climbing; wide bridging, a run out mantle and a belly crawl to the base of the final corner. As I climbed those last forty feet, I felt a mixture of emotions. Mostly there was the deep satisfaction of finally achieving a long sought after dream, but there was also a sense of sadness at the passing of a great adventure. As Phillip and I hiked down the summit slabs admiring the view down Howe Sound, I realized that for me, this had been in many ways, the ultimate climb.

Those who scoff at Baldwin and Cooper's 136 bolt ascent of the Grand Wall in 1961 forget that in context of the times, and their equipment and skills, probably no one could have done better at climbing the main wall. There simply aren't that many features.