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Brutus of Wyde
climber
Old Climbers' Home, Oakland CA
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Royal Arches: A Casual Climb in the Valley
The valley is an endless sunlit
chasm far below. I cower on a muddy,
grassy hummock in the middle of a
smooth slab and briefly consider my
options. Far away, nearly halfway
down the wall, a team is working on
the pendulum pitch. Waiting for them to
catch up and lead this last pitch may
take up to four hours. Another
option is to bail from the climb. I
look again at the 80 feet of slab
between me and the beckoning forest
at the rim.
The penji pitch should have provided
warning. After the pendulum, the
supposed-4th-class traverse was in
the middle of a 4" sheet waterfall. the
clear, shockingly cold water
churned over my arms as I clawed
beneath the current for holds. My
climbing shoes instantly filled with
water. Each move was a struggle both
against gravity, and against the
atrociously poor adhesion that the
streaming sheets of liquid provided.
Eighty feet: Eighty feet between
where I stand, and an easy stroll
down the descent.
How hard? 5.4? 5.6?
The rock here is completely covered
with, and shimmers beneath, a thin
veneer of running water.
Each rugosity of the smooth slab,
every wrinkle and rough spot, has
provided a substrate for scum and
algae growth. The south-facing
exposure of this slab has provided
sunlight, the minerals from the
warm water draining over the rim have
provided nourishment, and the result
is a surface similar in quality and
appearance to a playground slide
coated with rancid bacon grease.
The third option is one on which I
do not dwell. Imagination all-to-
vividly provides a stop-motion
strobe-lit image of a body
accelerating down the slick rock,
past trees and soil just out of
arm's reach, blurring streak of color
hurtling out into space, out of
control, all options gone, forever,
ruining the afternoon for everyone
on the climb below me.
Chalk hands. Oh-so-carefully lift
each foot, dry the sole of each
Kaukulator, chalk the rubber,
replace the foot on
the slime-covered rock.
Left foot moves. Focused attention
to the minutiae. Scrape a hold with
wet high-tech rubber to clear off
the slick algae. Lift the foot,
carefully balancing, and cake chalk
onto the sole. Transfer chalk to the
hold. The result is a hold that, for
30 seconds or so until water creeps
back into its territory, will
support my terrified being above the
hungry sunlit void as I scrape the
next hold and chalk, pants getting
too muddy to dry the shoes palms
slicking across the greasy granite
sunlit space stop-motion-strobe-lit-
imagedon'tthinkaboutthat
Dry stretch of rock, one foot square,
with an accomodating wrinkle. Halfway there.
Ahead is a thin undercling flake and
more wet rock, (but less algae,) the
forest closer than ever before,
individual grains of soil visible;
chest clenched in a giant fist,
relax, breathe, no mistakes now...
I step down on to the dirt and pine
needles of the forest floor. Sob.
Laugh. Shout. Take another deep breath,
walk up to the spring and get a
drink. Look back over the slab, turn
my back, and start the descent,
tucking climbing shoes and chalkbag
into the daypack. Casual.
End
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cliffhanger
Trad climber
California
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There are 2 ways to traverse to the forest on the finish of Royal Arches. What looks like the obvious way, keeping low, and with about 80' of 5.7 slab, is the way most parties go. But by keeping very high you can find very easy blocky traversing to a short 15' section of 5.4 slab to the forest.
Impressive solo with running water and scum!
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Double D
climber
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hashbro... yeah but I never swallowed!
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RyanD
climber
Squamish
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The Brutus of Wyde story right there was amazing.
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Avery
climber
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I came to grief soloing on Temple Buttress which is in Arthur's Pass National Park, New Zealand.
The day dawned iffy with low cloud and mist sweeping Mt Temple. Out of sheer boredom I decided to have a "look" around the bottom of the buttress in the vague hope of salvaging something from a disappointing weekend.
When the mist cleared I decided to solo the right hand side of the main buttress. Although the rock was loose the climbing was straight forward, around 14/15 at the most. At about roughly 100ft the mist returned with a vengeance with visibility down to about 5 or 6ft. Deciding this was no longer much fun I traversed left to easier ground when all of a sudden my feet went from under me. It left me almost free hanging. I looked down just long enough to see where I might fall. Then my strength deserted me and I was forced to let go. I remember two landings, one as I bounced off the rock with the second fall ending on the ground at the base of the buttress. I reckon I fell about 70ft
For a few moments my head was swirling and being momentarily terrified I screamed out "help me", why I don't know for there was no one around. I stumbled about in the mist for a while not really knowing where I was. Then I decided to follow the river witch drained the basin. It was only when I attempted to use my right hand that I realized it was broken. It was bent in a pronounced "L" shape and virtually useless.
After what seemed liked an eternity I stumbled onto the main road and attempted to thumb a ride. By this time my right leg was so painful that I could barely use it. Anyway, some kind souls picked me up and I eventually ended up at Christchurch Hospital
It turned out that the only thing I broke was my wrist. The bruising was so severe however that I was quite literally purple/black from the waist down.
The time was February 1988 and I gave up serious climbing, without a particle of regret. That was the biggest surprise of all.
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rick sumner
Trad climber
reno, nevada/ wasilla alaska
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In my days of youth, some forty years ago now, long days of soloing were a regular passion. The Leap was ideal for putting in mega footage with its easy approaches and perrenial stream atop to slake ones thirst. Eleven or twelve routes would constitute near a vertical mile. I was at home on the rock here, the proliferation of dikes made for near effortless cruising over most of the walls. One typical day I started midmorning with the Groove as the approach to the upper wall and April Fools. Above the jamcrack pitch I was on new ground somewhere in the vicinity of the Dead Tree Direct. Negotiating a steep headwall via smallish dikes, I had my right handhold and corresponding foothold snap simultaneously. It would have been an ugly 500 foot groundfall with a couple of dismembering bounces if it not for my third point of contact with the left hand crimphold. I easily found another foothold and climbed through with little to no alarm, but after topping out I walked down ending my day early.
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phylp
Trad climber
Millbrae, CA
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These are all scary sobering stories.
I'm glad to see this bumped.
I had my right handhold and corresponding foothold snap simultaneously. (Shudder)
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Reilly
Mountain climber
The Other Monrovia- CA
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There are unscary solos?
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ydpl8s
Trad climber
Santa Monica, California
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A person I would like to hear from on this thread is SicMic. I'm sure he has some interesting tales about soloing in Eldo. He hung out a lot with Derek Hersey, solo'd The Rotwand Wall more than anyone, led Supremacy Crack in flip flops..............
Sic Mic?
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ms55401
Trad climber
minneapolis, mn
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cool post, base, hearing about those halcyon days that will never exist ever again
I have had some involved soloing stories, but man I really almost bought it downclimbing from the Piute Crags in darkness... Grade 4 choss that literally disintegrated with any downward weight applied
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scooter
climber
fist clamp
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One time I almost fell. Barely caught myself. Pretty f-ing scary....What else is there to tell in a scary solo story?
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Sierra Ledge Rat
Mountain climber
Old and Broken Down in Appalachia
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I've got a few, been told before.
I soloed the West Face of the Leaning Tower in winter. Being an idiot, I accidentally dropped my bivy gear while setting up my hammock right below the big roof. Spent one really f*#king cold night in the hammock, then climbed in a mad frenzy to top off the next day. That night the storm was so bad that another solo climber on El Cap froze to death. I am lucky to have survived that ordeal.
I free-soloed a multi-pitch class 5 buttress on Mount Evans in Colorado that was in the 5.8 range. Normally I do not climb anything that I cannot down-climb, but in this case I was very close to the summit and I didn't see anything that would prevent me from summitting. So I free-soloed a tricky, steep face with small holds, and the sequence was a bit complicated. I got a little higher and ran into an impassible corner in the shade that was smeared in ice and verglass. So I had to down-clmb the route.
The tricky face climbing proved to be too difficult for me to down-climb. Ever reach a point where you realize that if you stand there for very much longer you are going to loose your strength and fall? But the climbing is so hard that you'll fall anyway? I kept trying to down-climb the face, and climbing back up a small stance to rest - over and over and over.
I finally reached a point where it was "Do or die" and so I down-climbed the face. WHEW! About 15 feet from the ground I lost my concentration and fell and broke my ankle and crawled to my car.
One more. Not sure if you consider "solo." But I was walking down the Kahiltna Glacier on Denali by myself, going back to camp to get another load. I punched through the surface to my waist, and my legs were dangling below me. I wasn't that worried - yet. I pushed back and looked down the hole, and saw that I was out in the middle of a 20-foot wide crevasse with vertical walls that went down into the abyss. THAT scared me.
Now when I have climbing nightmares, it's usually about free-soloing and losing my grip and falling.
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overwatch
climber
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Apparently nothing for you, Scooter.
Some good write ups on this thread.
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Reilly
Mountain climber
The Other Monrovia- CA
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It was all good on the winter north face solo, until the slab with maybe a half inch of ice on it.
I guess it went, I hardly remember.
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SicMic
climber
across the street from Marshall
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Dec 22, 2014 - 02:05pm PT
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Two stories come to mind. The first was underclinging right and making a move over a little lip. As I got my hands onto some holds above the lip, both feet cut loose. Not willing to watch myself plunge to my death, I shut my eyes but miraculously held on. I promised myself not to freak out until I got to the summit. Managed to hold it together until I got back to the ground.
The other was arriving at a roof/slot and not liking the holds or sequence. So I moved to the left in an effort to avoid the problem. Ended up around the corner on the feature and faced with 5.10 moves to try to reestablish onto the route proper. Taking a fall back there would've meant waiting a long time to have the body recovered.
Honorable mention to getting three pitches up on a route and finding the crack there soaking wet. Got to face-climb out to the right, bumping the difficulty about two grades.
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Scole
Trad climber
Zapopan
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I see that this is an old thread that has been resurrected. I wish I could say that about some of the people who posted here that are no longer with us.
My solo climbing tale of terror happened on a 1987 trip to Patagonia with Paul Gagner and Walt Shipley to climb a route on the West face of Cerro Torre.
We arrived in perfect weather and opted to climb the Compressor rt immediately rather than wasting the weather window carrying loads. The climb was pretty uneventful and we summited our chief objective on day 6 of a 3 month trip.
We waited out a couple of weeks of storm, then started casting about for other objectives. Paul and Walt wanted to climb Fitz-Roy, but I figured once was enough. My eye was on Aguja de le S which, at the time, was unclimbed.
Paul and Walt took off for the Super Canaleta in the morning and I took my time preparing for a solo. I packed a small rack with a few nuts, a set of friends and 5 pins plus a couple of ice screws, then headed for a bivy at the base. At 2 a.m. I started up the gully between the Aguja and Mojon Rojo, which Bridwell had climbed previously. As the gully steepened into a couloir and the climbing began the light started to improve, and I could see that the rock on the start of my proposed route was a series of overlapping slabs of loose shale.
I faced a quick decision: Climb my proposed route and FA of a peak, or climb the good looking rock on the right on a previously climbed peak. I quickly switched my objective and continued up the couloir past Bridwell's route on Mojon Rojo. A dank slot branched of the main couloir and I started roped climbing there on some easy rock and mixed which gradually steepened to vertical.
After 5 rope lengths on my doubled 100m 9mm, I reached a shoulder where the real climbing began. I followed cracks and corners for a few more rope lengths then reached the base of a large slab. I went to a single strand on my rope and lead off. The rock was fantastic but offered almost no protection. I placed a couple of RPs before reaching a small arch where a #2 friend fit perfectly. A small 5.9 traverse put me at the base of a second arch with a blank seam in the back. I tied off a thin kb and kept going, hoping to find an anchor before my 100m was up.
The end of the rope was getting closer and closer and I still couldn't find any gear until I was at the end. Not sure what to do, and knowing I couldn't down climb, I started searching frantically for an anchor. About 10' above me I spotted a blade crack and a tiny ledge. The climbing was not too hard, but being 50m above pro alone on a Patagonian wall mistakes were not an option, so I slowly worked the puzzle out until I could reach the ledge. By now I was fighting major rope stretch and could not move up, but the crack, and my only hope, was still 5' above me. I desperation I hooked my axe on the ledge and used a prusik to haul the rope even tighter till I could get enough slack to put one foot onto the ledge.
I fumbled for a blade, dropped the first one, then found a bugaboo. At full extension I wedged the tip in, then tried for my hammer which was on the wrong hip. Finally I was able to work the hammer free, and after a few gentle taps, started to weld the pin to the eye.
Ringing steel never sounded so good! With a deep sigh I clipped the only piece in reach after a 110 meter pitch on a 100 m rope with three pieces of gear. Twenty minutes later I was composed enough to search for a second piece for my anchor and eventually spotted a nut placement 10' higher. I tied all my remaining slings together, tied myself to the end, and untied the rope so I could complete an anchor.
The remaining pitches followed ramps and corners to the summit block. I used two points of aid at a small roof, the only aid on the route. I free soloed up and down the 5.8 summit block, then rested before the hard part.
My descent options involved rapping into the unknown or traversing the peak and descending the glacier into Rio Blanco. As I only had about ten pieces of gear total, and the raps were unknown I chose the glacier. The first hundred meters went well when I suddenly fell up to my armpits in a bottomless blue hole. I fired into an iron cross and somehow managed to fling myself back up onto the glacier: I still have no idea how I made it out, but somehow I did.
The next eight hours were spent probing every inch of the way. Many times I was forced to retreat when I encountered dead ends until finally I was within 20 m of solid ground. I searched for some time before realizing that my only way to reach the rocks was to cross a huge sagging bridge across the bergschrund. I found the steepest part and glissaded flat on my back (while thinking very light thoughts) until I hit the bottom: When my feet touched the bottom of the bridge I used my momentum to tilt up and sunk both tools into the ice on the other side as chunks of the bridge disappeared into the giant hole that opened up beneath me.
I wandered down the rocks until I reached a terminal moraine where everything I touched roared off down into the gorge beneath me, threatening to take me with it. Several hours of carefully picking my way down eventually put me on solid ground and soon I saw the first vegetation. Things got greener and greener and I finally reached Rio Blanco.
There was a rumor back then that a shortcut existed between Rio Blanco and the Torre Valley where our camp was, but no one had actually used it. There was a choice of walking down to El Chalten, then back up the Torre Valley but I wanted to get home so I chose the shortcut which began with a tiny track through high grass and lead through meadows and patches of forest until it ran out in a swamp. I looked and looked in the dark, but could find no dry way to reach the ground I hoped was near.By this time I was to tired to care, so I waded in still wearing my harness and double boots. My headlamp picked out hummocks of grass and the occasional tree in the distance. Mid way across the swamp I saw eyes on a grass hummock. My headlamp revealed an adult Puma (Mountain Lion) licking its paws 10 meters away. I suddenly felt very naked and alone, stuck up to my knees in mud with only my ice tools(still holstered) for defense. The cat paid no attention to me, and I suddenly felt very energized and completed the swamp crossing in record time.
The remainder of the hike was a gentle stroll in the dark until it began to get light as I hit the Torre Valley and the trail home. It was a great adventure, one I will never forget. Chances are good that no one will ever find a single fixed bugaboo in the middle of no where on Mojon Rojo, but if they do I hope they enjoyed the climb.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Apr 28, 2017 - 07:13pm PT
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Bump for the Big Lonesome as Largo would say...
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NutAgain!
Trad climber
South Pasadena, CA
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Holy moly, nobody wanted to post up weaksauce after Scott's story. That is pretty bad to the bone on multiple fronts.
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