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willstanhope
climber
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Mar 28, 2014 - 05:37pm PT
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Stanley was a legend in my eyes before I met him. His list of enchainments, speed records and hard climbs were spoken about around campfires in Yosemite California and Indian Creek Utah. He was just one of those guys that people spoke with a certain degree of reverence. In a climbing world full of people eager to be known and stand out, Stanley was a rare-breed: an incredibly talented climber dodging the limelight, doing his own thing.
Over the years I came to know him. I remember one dismal spring evening: slashing rain, arriving in Yosemite a little bit too early (April), without a spot to bivy. Stanley invited me and my friends to his spot in El Portal to avoid the prowling rangers.
Of course there’s the climbing: El Cap and Half Dome free in a day, 3 El Cap routes in a day, huge new routes all over the world. But most of all I will remember the kindness. I’ve crept to the edge of a huge cliff with him and Tim Emmett. I was bug-eyed and dry throated, hardly comprehending the magic trick that was about to take place. And Stanley, saying, “be careful Willy, stay back from the edge.” Fair enough, really- he had a parachute and I didn’t. But for years afterward I thought about that moment often. Stanley cared about his friends.
A few years ago I broke a couple bones in a climbing fall in England. Stanley went out of his way, along with Dean Potter, to hook me up with a health oil and supplement company to get me back on my feet again. At that time I was at a personal low-point. That gesture was huge for me.
I can’t remember where I read this Jim Bridwell quote exactly but I’ll try to paraphrase it here: “In the end, it doesn’t matter what routes you climbed. All that matters is how many people you helped along the way.” The climbs were inspiring, no doubt. But Sean’s thoughtful, caring nature is what I’ll remember most. Rest in peace, Sean.
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wayne w
Trad climber
the nw
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Mar 28, 2014 - 05:43pm PT
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A beautiful tribute, Will.
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MisterE
climber
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Mar 28, 2014 - 06:06pm PT
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So sorry to hear about this. Condolences to family and friends, especially the Yosemite climbing community.
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Largo
Sport climber
The Big Wide Open Face
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Mar 28, 2014 - 06:09pm PT
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Several years ago during pre-production for a big hardback art book called the Yosemite Revolution, I worked with Sean on a story of breaking the Nose speed record with Dean Potter. Sean was so modest about the whole thing I had to nearly haul the words out of him. But when he finally buckled down the humanity in the man shined through clear and strong. Here is the piece.
NOSE SPEED RECORD
By SEAN LEARY
November 6, 2010. Dean Potter and I fidget, waiting for morning light to chase the shadows off El Capitan. Once we can see well enough to climb, we will race up the Nose route. For years we have bouldered together, slacklined and ranged around the Valley, but the Nose is the first time we’ve roped up for serious climbing. We’ve trained these last few weeks to try – amongst other things – to capture the blistering 2:37:05 speed record set in 2008 by Yuji Hirayama and Hans Florine.
Dean is bare-chested, wears jeans hacked off below the knees and nervously rubs chalk up his arms, down his legs and over his feet. Stray white blotches fleck his face and chest, ghostly war paint glowing in the pre-dawn gloom. I compulsively sip water, pee, sip more water, and pee again. The intensity builds.
For going on twenty years, Dean has bested fear and conceptual boundaries, aiming his powerful energy stream onto bold, even superhuman feats. His near infinite focus and patience are easily felt this morning as he settles into a silent, jedi-like trance. Meanwhile I blab incessantly until Dean tells me in his big deep voice to concentrate on the Nose. My scattered thoughts slowly subside and my focus narrows to the granite wall soaring overhead. Breaking the speed record might be the upshot, but our motivation runs far deeper than competing with Yuji and Hans.
Mutual needs for friendship and intense physical trials have aimed us at El Capitan. We both are recovering from shattering losses, Dean from a recent divorce, me from losing my best friend in a car accident. Time has passed, but the energy and commitment we once enjoyed has returned slowly, often in fits and starts. Now, we both crave the experience of pushing our bodies and minds and collapsing time into a couple hours of perfection that has so far eluded us on the Nose. Our best shot at an emotional reset, at striking a new beginning, lies on this big grey rock.
Today is our fifth time climbing the route together. We know by heart most every handjam, foothold, and gear placement. As we wait, twitching in the twilight, we discuss our plan pitch by pitch and move for move. We’ve pared the rack down to within an inch of our lives, carrying nothing bigger than one inch – just enough to hopefully keep one or two pieces of protection clipped between us as we simul-climb The world’s most famous rock climb, bottom to top. Since we’ll mostly climb at maximum velocity, solid gear placements are critical.
During an earlier burn, Dean was seconding when he pulled on a poorly set cam. It ripped out and he plunged twenty feet to a tiny ledge. Adrenaline exploded through me as he windmilled his arms, toppling backward for a gigantic whipper that would likely have peeled us both off the rock and into terrifying freefall. I instinctively death-gripped the cord, fighting the pump, and somehow held Dean’s body weight. Dean scratched back into the crack and we pulled ourselves to the top. But we both were shaken by the close call, which drove home the seriousness of simul-climbing the Nose at record pace. A lot can happen in thirty-one pitches. Even in top shape with the route well- rehearsed, the record would never be certain till we both stood safely on the summit.
Finally we can see footholds and handholds. The route stretches above us in stunning golden glory. I’m poised, chalked and ready to launch off. Dean counts down the seconds on our stopwatch: 3,2,1, Go! And I’m off, scrabbling up the first slippery 5.10 pitch, climbing fast and as efficiently as possible. Ten minutes later I mantle onto Sickle ledge, five hundred feet off the deck.
Dean arrives in a few minutes and already I have burned off another one hundred and fifty feet. Fifteen minutes into this adventure, Dean is below me, ready to swing into pitch seven. As he weights the rope and starts to pendulum I frantically unclip the remaining rack from my harness and zip-line it down the cord. He quickly racks the gear, blasts off and I follow, effectively swappingleads. Now it’s Dean’s turn to detonate.
For the next half hour we dash up the flawless, straight-in splitter called The Stovelegs. Communication is critical. Dean shouts every time he clips decent gear. I tell him he’s on a good belay whenever he looks sketchy. Knowing we’re both protected and somewhat secure keeps the good energy flowing and helps us maintain speed as we throw hands and fists and kick our slippers into the crack, levering our way skyward.
Fifty-six minutes after leaving the ground, Dean nears the top of Boot Flake as I prepare for the King Swing, one of the famous maneuvers on the Nose. This marks our second change of gear and leader. The King Swing involves a running pendulum from right to left, gaining another crack system roughly eighty feet distant, which leads into the nebulous flinty diorite of the Grey Bands, up and out the Great Roof, then straight on through the upper dihedrals to the summit.
“Go, go, go! We’re at record pace!” Dean shouts as I finish the King Swing and pull onto a small ledge. One hour has passed and we feel hopeful so long as we can keep our momentum and nothing weird happens. A fall, small or large, dropped gear, a stuck rope, or anything short of flawless execution will cost us precious seconds and any shot at the record. This is both the challenge and allure of speed climbing. We seek the perfect lap, the most efficient blend of strategy, fitness, execution and luck. So far we’re doing well.
Breathing in controlled bursts, I pant up the Great Roof with tiring arms. Dean follows, still simul-climbing, till I pull up the slack and short fix at the two bolt anchor. He lowers out and jumars at speed as I launch up the spectacular Pancake Flake, an outrageously positioned, flapjack thin lieback with two thousand feet of High Sierra air plunging below. Luckily this pitch is relatively secure. I feel heroic and run out the entire lead, the slack in the rope arcing down and away in a giant loop, and I keep on chugging till the loop comes tight. Seconds later, Dean arrives at the belay and once again we’re off.
To capture the record we need to average five minutes per pitch, a torrid pace to hold for thirty-one-hundred vertical feet. Up here on the Big Stone, endurance trumps brute strength: no single move is harder than 5.11. Anything requiring more difficult free climbing we aid past, pulling through on gear. But now, after a couple thousand feet at quarter horse pace, 5.11 feels downright stout. To keep punching through the vertical jams and laybacks just above, after already sprinting for twenty some pitches, never pausing to rest, requires robust cardiovascular endurance. We breathe like typhoons the entire time. In our quest to shed needless weight, we have done away with extra clothing, food, even water, carrying only one packet of Gu apiece, which we never find time to squeeze down.
We switch leads a final time just above Camp 5, eight-hundred feet below the summit overhangs. Dean grabs the rack and casts off with a vengeance. Our form has gotten ragged since the Great Roof and we feel the seconds slipping away. So Dean turns on the afterburners and gasses up the final pitches, laybacking with giant reachy strides. I huff along behind, trying like mad to catch him. Climbing second, I will be last to top out, and we can’t stop the clock until I do. The quicker I follow, the more likely we are to set a new record.
We are close. I can feel it. “Five minutes!” Dean screams down, as I begin the second to last pitch, three-hundred feet below the summit. My limbs quiver. My lungs are on fire. A small voice deep says, “You’ll never make it. And so close. Maybe next time. Maybe not.”
I have to climb faster than two and a half minutes per pitch to break the record, and already I’m maxed, with cramping arms and Jello legs. For a split second I feel my focus ebb and my body relax in defeat, victim to that annoying voice telling me this is, in fact, just one more training lap. But we’re so close, and I want it so badly. I hate that little voice and channel the anger into a renewed frenzy. Breathing in great groaning half-screams, I karate chop hand jams into the crack as I paddle my feet hastily up the glassy wall. I no longer care about falling. And there’s no time for fear. With an ape-like grunt, I lunge through the last few free moves and swing up onto the final bolt ladder.
The last pitch of the Nose is a stunning headwall, leaning out over 3,000 breathtaking feet of space. The route spills into the void, vert upper corners arcing smoothly into the lower slab that sweeps out toward the forest and meadow below, appearing from this great height like the world’s scariest toboggan ride.
A line of bolts tackles this final bulge, originally ¼” Star Drives fitted with homemade hangers, hand drilled by Warren Harding in his legendary overnight summit lead on November 15, 1958. Today, November, 2010, bombproof ½’ stainless steel bolts have replaced the antique Star Drives. With the security of modern tackle, Dean and I aid our way through the bolts with nothing clipped between us except our daisy chains. Once again the rope hangs in a giant arcing loop as we dyno bolt to bolt up the slanting ladder.
I’m barely halfway through the pitch when Dean crests the summit.
The huge, free-hanging loop of rope between us starts furiously whizzing upward at ten feet per second as Dean scrambles over easy terrain to the top of the Nose. Fifty feet below I push through the fatigue despite my cramping arms and legs and sprint with all my might.
The route ends at a lone and scraggly pine where the technical climbing abruptly flattens to walking on the north rim. Until I tag the tree, precious seconds will tick away on the stopwatch. Breathing in spasmodic gasps, I yard past the final bolts on the 110 degree wall, claw onto the summit slab and half stumble, half run till l dive at the tree and collapse in a heaving tangle of rope and gear, ruined. “Time?” I wheeze.
Dean doesn’t answer for a few moments. I’m not sure if we have broken the record, but I am sure we’ve had our best lap so far. Finally, Dean gives me our time: 2:36:45. “We broke the record, but barely,” he says.
We have just climbed the Nose faster than any team in history, but we both feel strangely subdued. The perfect lap, that finely tuned medley of fitness, strategy, partnership and luck, still eludes us, although we trust that the flawless ascent we seek shimmers off in our future. We own the record, but the Nose is not done with us just yet.
As we kick down the East Ledges descent, we go over our mistakes and consider possible tactical adjustments for the next burn. Perfection is near, and as it approaches we find our energy and strength rekindled, slowly recovering our former selves, ever pulling through to new ground.
Like many before and the countless who should follow, we seek healing through the immense challenge found on the granite walls of Yosemite, moving at top speed toward the quiet stillness abiding in the heart of this amazing stone playground.
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10b4me
Sport climber
www.tenbeephotography.com
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Mar 28, 2014 - 07:03pm PT
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thanks Will, and John.
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karen roseme
Mountain climber
san diego
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Mar 29, 2014 - 12:39am PT
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Back in 2002 a bunch of friends and I decided to go to The Needles on an extended climbing trip. On the drive, Annie (Sean's girlfriend at the time) said that she was meeting a friend there and was going to climb with them the next day. Sean turned to me and asked "Karen do you want to climb tomorrow?" I said "Hell Yes!" even though I was secretly anxious about being able to keep up. I had been to The Needles before and it was pretty intimidating, it has the reputation of being a particularly wild and scary place.
In the morning we hiked in and started on Thin Ice an awesome three pitch route. It has a little of everything including a strenuous flaring V-slot. Then we headed over to The Don Juan Wall, a classic that is normally done in five pitches. Incredibly Sean did it in two! Next up was Atlantis, another area classic and a stout climb which he also did in two pitches. I think I took out 4 pieces of gear following the route.
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While Sean was hiking these routes and I was doing my best to keep up, some of our friends were still arriving or climbing in the main gully. Everyone was hooting and yelling to each other across the gully as they watched Sean literally run up these very difficult routes. This just reinforced how exceptional a climber Sean was and how lucky I was to be sharing that day with him.
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As if that wasn't a big enough day already, Sean then headed over to Scirocco, an unbelievable 5.12 on a spectacular arête. Go Stanley! Scirocco is mega 150 ft pitch. The bottom is strenuous and the upper arête is technical with very bold run outs between bolts... a very scary lead. I was psyched that Sean got the rope up there. By this time I was pretty cooked, I fell at the bottom but managed to do the spectacular voodoo moves on the arete while marveling at Sean's composure on the run out sections.
After Scirocco he still wasn't done. We headed over to Davy Jones' Locker, an amazing overhanging splitter hand crack to crimpy overhanging edges protected by a single small stopper. There was no chalk on the route at the time which made the crux section seem even more improbable. Sean launched into the final challenge. Our friend Micah was on a ledge with a great view of the climb shouting words of encouragement. Sean was doing a great job sticking with it, but it was really hard to tell which holds were good. All of a sudden he took a mighty whipper on the little stopper. Without hesitation he shook off the fall and went back up and easily finished the route. I had a hard time at the top but the rest of the route was amazing! Sean never failed to be encouraging. I felt like he wanted me to make it even more than I did. I can't remember a more fun day climbing and one where I was more inspired. Thinking back, I am amused realizing this was just a warm up day for him.
That night we hung out around the camp fire swapping stories with Micah, Amelia, Justin, Alan, Zach, Maria, Jose, Russ and Annie. We drank wine and ate food cooked in the coals by our crazy friend Heavy Duty who danced the night away to tunes coming out of Micah and Amelia's Techno-bago. In the morning there was a foot deep hole in the dirt made by his dancing feet.
I can still see all the happy faces around the fire. I am so sad that some of them are not with us anymore except in our hearts and our memories. We miss you Sean, Micah, and Jose.
I think this time in all of our lives was pretty amazing. Thank you Sean for an incredible day that I will always remember!
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drljefe
climber
El Presidio San Augustin del Tucson
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Mar 29, 2014 - 01:10am PT
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If we all could be so fortunate to have the love, respect, and admiration of so many.
These stories are a beautiful testament to an amazing life lived to the max.
Peace and solace to all those grieving this loss.
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RyanD
climber
Squamish
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Mar 29, 2014 - 01:51am PT
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Beautiful & well told story Karen, a great tribute to honor your friend.
Thanks to your great writing I felt like I was there, even though I've never been anywhere near the needles & I never was fortunate enough to meet Sean.
I have seen Hevy dance up a storm though, I actually see him all the time. I'll tell him u said hi :-)
Inspiring stuff.
Thanks.
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karen roseme
Mountain climber
san diego
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Mar 29, 2014 - 11:59am PT
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Hi Ryan,
Please do say hi to Hevy for me! We had some great times. Also, please say hi to Justin for me too if he still lives there!
Thanks Karen
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BASE104
Social climber
An Oil Field
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Mar 29, 2014 - 06:42pm PT
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bump for more stories...
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Ed Hartouni
Trad climber
Livermore, CA
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Mar 30, 2014 - 06:35pm PT
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keep it among the most recent
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10b4me
Sport climber
www.tenbeephotography.com
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Mar 30, 2014 - 08:48pm PT
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bump
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ryankelly
Trad climber
el portal
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Mar 30, 2014 - 09:37pm PT
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Sean Leary - thank you for the inspiration, the laughing smile, and the incredible path you followed through this life. I will think of you often; when the wind flies over the Valley walls, when the birds rise into the perfect sky. When the climbing is so good that all life's distractions fade when held up to the exquisite beauty of moving among these granite walls. Your spirit sails on...
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Norwegian
Trad climber
dancin on the tip of god's middle finger
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Mar 30, 2014 - 09:45pm PT
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hear here ryankelly.
there is that much good in a man,
and there are infinite, and more blessings
at our disposal among mountains.
but how do we pace our appetite for such amazing rituals
that entice into their terrifying, though warm embrace?
especially when competing for their's attention
are the hollow strides that entangle our wandering feet!
i love this about my mountain mates:
they encourage me to shut the f*#k up
and act out my life.
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Flip Flop
Trad climber
Truckee, CA
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Mar 30, 2014 - 10:00pm PT
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Stanley
The Big Wall Hammer
Gets the Job Done Right
At Home
-Coiler
What's the rest B.K?
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Gobie
Trad climber
Northern, Ca.
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Mar 31, 2014 - 11:51am PT
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This is the first I have heard of this. My heart is broken. I first met Stanley (as we knew him) in the 90's when he and his brother (who later died in The High Sierra backcountry) came into my climbing store in Jackson, CA. Neither one of them had any really experience but both picked up on it quickly. So quickly in fact it wasnt long after that his mom came in and told me he was climbing on Baffin Island. I was both excited and jealous for him. It was a joy to watch him progress through the years and surpass anything I could ever have dreamed of him achieving. My thoughts are with his mother and family/friends who have to relive this tragedy in their household once again. He will selfishly be missed for what he had to offer all of us.
Ron Felton
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Leo Gokovski
climber
AZ
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Mar 31, 2014 - 01:34pm PT
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Some time ago, I had frequented the valley every year, spending my entire summer there. For most of that time, it seemed that one could not help but hear about Stanley: "Stanley's fearless..." some dude mutters at the bridge, as Stanley and Potter run up the nose for the record. A few years later, Stanley and Honnold are climbing half dome... I hike with a friend who was dog sitting Sean's dog (if memory serves) in a thunder storm to get a closer look. They are high up as the thunder storm thickens, brewing above them.
I had never met Sean face to face, only observed his wake as he passed through. I find myself in mourning none the less.
My deepest condolences to family, friends, and members of the climbing and BASE community. We lost a truly remarkable human being.
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Niels
climber
Denmark, formerly Sacramento
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Mar 31, 2014 - 02:42pm PT
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I worked with Sean during his first summer in Yosemite, in 1994. He wasn't Stanley yet. We worked in the bookstore next the the Visitors' Center. He was 19 and had just finished his first year at Humboldt.
I remember doing the Nutcracker with him. He got pissed at me for climbing too slow and for getting a nut stuck. About a week later, we were talking in the bookstore and he mentioned that he had gone back and soloed it. It was already kind of unreal how good he was. And he was very driven.
I haven't been in touch with him for a long time, but I've followed his career and really enjoyed the film of him and Dean Potter doing the speed ascent of the Nose. I was kind of surprised that he flew under the radar for so long because he was so good so early. But I suppose that's a credit to him, as others have noted here.
F*#k, BASE jumping is dangerous! The videos are beautiful, but....man, I'm sorry he's gone.
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