Taco eaters, Here is my very first trip report for your consumption. Please forgive me, what started out as a brief series of photos turned into something of a cathartic process. Between a summer of physical setbacks and the struggle to secure a business future things sucked. That said life is great!

Berg Heil,

Charlie D.

A Short Trip to Paradise

Another climbing season in Tuolumne is nearly over with little time left for all our postponed summer plans given a self-inflected setback to my otherwise successful minor surgery. Take care of your wounds folks; I sure learned my lesson to lay off mountain activity while incisions heal. The multiple antibiotic cure for a staph infection was certainly easier than an amputation but it did shorten my climbing season while destroying digestive functions for weeks on end.

Finally with a healed hoof and “trusted farts” my wife and I make it down and through the portal that is the east entry into YNP early last Friday. I felt as if my summer of climber’s purgatory was penance for my own stupidity as we approached the kiosk to a smiling young Park employee and the inspired sketch on the white board reminding us to enjoy Yosemite, musing I have a memory problem but not that kind.
We speculated on its likely youthful and energetic artist as we pulled on through the gates and down to the campground with hopes of getting into the A river loop. Mission accomplished we proceeded down to Stately Pleasure Dome to gain our Tuolumne legs on the apply named Bolt Way; you got to love TM after Labor Day arriving there in morning sunshine and cool temperatures with nobody else around.
Back at the van after a sandwich we thought Crying Time Again would be a great afternoon climb on Lembert with its west facing aspect in the cooler fall weather since SP was beginning to get swarmed with sun seekers. Both Crying Time and the Northwest Face had parties so we opted for the newer and shorter Oh Henry which gave us plenty of time to retrieve a second rope for the rap and Haggen-Dazs bars before the store closed. Another well protected climb by Tuolumne standards with only a few duller teeth chewing on me as I lead to the top of the second pitch.
The weekend morning took us to Daff Dome and up West Crack after a cold wait in the shadows and brief conversation with a friendly Montanan on a two month road trip with his buddy. Montana seems to breed and attract a down to earth bunch of mountain folks. These two were certainly enjoyed each other’s’ banter as they pulled up through the dark and ominous roof before moving on into the sunshine. We soon followed behind on this classic route enjoying its quality as if we’d never done it. The benefit of aging is memory loss where old routes seem fresh and new but it’s down side would demonstrate its liabilities on the summit.

Neither one of us bothered to look at the descent route in our many guide books, I just remembered rapping off the back side while my wife thought she walked off. I hadn’t been up there in nearly 20 years but easily found the large tree which was an obvious rap anchor which only puzzled us as to why there were no slings and rings? We must have almost tripped over the chains but never saw them through our old eye tissue lacking their zoom function. I suppose it illustrated our old school mentality of why would anybody place bolts next to a perfectly healthy tree? We finally ended up carefully wondering down the slabs admiring its knobby and polished surface pass some old storm and avalanche battered trees thinking, if they could only talk.
Feeling more in the Tuolumne groove and having only completed three pitches we decided to end the day with the strenuous sequence of moves on the often repeated Tenaya Lieback below:
Sunday figuring we’d climb something neither of us had done would at least force us to study the routes. We headed over to Dozier Dome with its newer well protected routes that have lowered the bar for us mortals who seek the less frightening and strenuous; the word Tuolumne BITD use to make my palms sweat, now it’s only the route names! We were soon on Loud and Obnoxious pulling on golf ball sized knobs up its quality three pitch face appreciating the effort of the first ascensionists. The knobs sure made it difficult to see the many bolts beyond our base line problem of deteriorating 60 year old eyes not to mention our inability to accurately count bolts on topo’s or even see the fine print on protection sizes. Not that any of it mattered; we had a great day there while looking off onto the walls of legends who passed their way with minimal trace.
Monday we were up earlier to climb the Regular Route on Fairview thinking we might see fewer climbers off the weekend on what could easily be TM’s most popular route. A bit of cluster we expected to avoid kept us shivering in the cold morning but not for long as we began moving up enjoying the great finger and hand cracks can’t remembering it being this fun. Finally we reached the sun above Crescent Ledge where my poor wife began moving faster than a mannequin.
Feeling great, watching my life/climbing partner smiling as she climbed up toward me I reflected on the many choices we are given and cards we are dealt in a life time. Certainly choosing Nancy was without a doubt one of my best decisions. Sorting gear for the next pitch we heard a short panic skid of tires before the loud crash down on Highway 120 which could only be the tragic sound of a head on. Topping out as cars backed up in both directions while emergency vehicles arrived and a helicopter roared added a strange mix of speculative emotions to an otherwise perfect day in the mountains.
High cereus clouds which typically mark a change of weather in the Sierra were blowing over the range; a range that has experienced the passage of time through epic periods of its evolution and the micro flash of human activity. It was easy to imagine William Brewer across on Mt. Dana and Muir himself guiding young Joseph LeConte up through the meadows during one of his summer excursions after the native tribes before them all in the paradise that is Tuolumne. Looking south I saw my two 16 year old high school buddies hiking along with me on the Muir Trail as it drops down through the hemlock and fir forest from Cathedral Lakes on our way to Mt. Whitney in 1968. I thought of our vow to meet on the summit of Cathedral Peak on the 10 year anniversary which would never happen. Cards were dealt and choices made leading us in different directions, one to the mountaineers’ hell of Florida, myself to a home in the range and Roy to tragedy. The sound of sirens drifting up to the summit of Fairview signaled that yet another bad hand had been dealt below.

Heading back out over Tioga early Tuesday took us past the kiosk. We wondered if there was a new sketch and sure enough there it was; a beautiful frozen expression of a day in the life of the range by whoever witnessed it. I trust its youthful author won’t forget his/her passage and of those who shared the experience. I swear the place is haunted and simply hope I can keep drawing aces, indeed the earth is enough.