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I had a productive day in the Talus Sunday, establishing two new highball first ascents. The Lookout Tower and Freebird.
They can be found about half way up the Talus field above the Ahwahnee Boulders, best way to head up is to the left of Montezumas Revenge. Bring lots of pads, or just don't fall. Luckily I onsighted both of them. Hope people go up and check em out!

Kalen

Wrote a bit about the experience:

High Risk No Reward, The Irrational Act of Establishing Highball First Ascents in the Ahwahnee Talus Field. By Kalen Glenn

In 2009-2010, the towering Rhombus Wall above the Ahwahnee Hotel released a massive rockslide, forcing evacuations from the hotel and worrying park geologists. In 2016, Michael Rael Armas (Psyched Mike) began exploring the area, finding fresh, large boulders with exquisitely climbable features and horrendous landings made of shards of exploded talus. Once a week I would get a phone call from Mike excitedly telling me about a new climb he just put up, urging that I had to go check it out. In the fall of that year I finally made a visit and Mike showed me the goods. We scrambled up behind the main established bouldering area at the Ahwahnee, going through a tunnel shaped cave that Mike called the Rock Art boulder. Farther up, Mike pointed out dozens of new lines, most featuring high top-outs and leg-breaking landings. I was skeptical, I fall off a lot and generally look for safe, flat landings. Mike rarely falls, so safe landings are less important to him. Still, we continued higher into the labyrinth of granite debris.

He wanted to show me a tremendous crack boulder that our friend Patrick had put up, Splitter Bluebird (V1), but we got distracted when I pointed to a nice, 12-foot triangle of rock with moss and lichen covered holds. I envisioned the line and my interest piqued. After a bit of filthy work and some heavy lifting to fill in the landing, I worked the holds, figured out how to use them, and after a handful of attempts, I summited the little boulder, establishing my first Yosemite first ascent, The Weekender (V2). On a boulder nearby, Psyched Mike began cleaning holds off a short, overhanging bulge. I set to work excavating 50 to 100-lb blocks of granite in the hope of making room for a heel hook sit start. An hour of labor later, Mike made the onsight first ascent of The Amygdala (V4). Elated, but running late on my promise to be back in the Bay Area for dinner with my girlfriend, I hugged Mike goodbye and jogged back to my car, leaving Splitter Bluebird for another day.

In April of 2017, I headed back to Yosemite with hopes of finding more new boulders, or at least repeating some of Mike's discoveries. It mostly rained all weekend, but I finally got to climb Splitter Bluebird, which definitely lived up to the hype. It’s a perfect, overhanging lieback fingercrack, 25-feet long, with a committing but secure mantle at the top. I climbed it 3 times, feeling smoother with each ascent, hooting and hollering as I made the final moves. I then climbed a tree and filmed Mike as he attempted a repeat of a hard lip-traverse called The Prospector he put up last year. A dozen tries later he pulled himself over the lip with a difficult mantle and hiked the mossy slab without concern. The weekend over, I headed back to San Jose with a newfound appreciation for how Mike had been spending his free time the last few years.

Two weeks later I went back with no goals for the weekend other than to relax, do some sketching in my notebook and maybe a bit of boulder exploration. I took my friends Paul and Cristina with me and I couldn't wait to share Splitter Bluebird with them. After a a bit of convincing, they followed me through the Rock Art Tunnel and up into the talus. The mosquitoes were thick like clouds, swarming and fiending for exposed skin. Up and up we went, but I couldn't find the Splitter Bluebird boulder. I started to feel kinda bad. Luckily, just as the psych ran low, I spotted the top of the boulder peaking out from all the other jumbled rocks. Despite losing a few pints of blood to the mosquitoes, Paul and Cristina both climbed it, Paul even sent first go. They both agreed that the long pumpy lieback was worth the hike up.

Psych restored, we hopped across the talus and made our way farther up, wondering if perhaps there was something else we might find. We came across a 40-foot V1 lip-traverse and dispatched it quickly so we continued higher, marveling at the views of the Cathedral Spires as we gained the tree line. I spotted a large, overhanging boulder with a slab top-out 25-feet above sharp, broken granite. I scanned for holds and brushed the dirt and lichen, thinking to myself all along that I probably shouldn't risk climbing above such a bad landing.

My girlfriend and I have 4 kids, rent has to be paid, I have to work. Getting by in the inflationary Silicon Valley is impossible, but we try damn hard to stay anyway. Broken ankles, legs, or worse, could jeopardize all of that. But, "Look! There is a good left gaston to help get over the bulge and onto the slab. Might only be V1," I exclaimed to Paul, who was optimistically stacking rocks in a feeble attempt at making a flat spot for the pads. "A bit more brushing and I’ll give it a try - see if it goes," I said, thinking I'd probably just hop off before I got too high.
I put both hands on a downward sloping jug, set a high left heel, lunged right to a perfect incut crimp, matched, swung to a right heel, up to a pinch but then...Oh no, I thought to myself, I didn't brush this pinch enough, too much lichen. Breathe. Find a spot you can hold onto, I'm not sure I can hit the pads from here. Adjust the fingers. Ok good you can hold that, get your left foot up on the start jug...crank to that gaston! Aw sh#t I'm off balance, I can't use the gaston, figure this out - you can't fall from here! This isn't V1.

I matched hands, liebackIng on the arête. I assessed my options and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. I decided to make a desperate downward lunge with my lower hand, aware that if my palm didn't land on the hold just right I'm going face first into sharp talus. My hand landed accurately, so I quickly mantled onto the slab, stood up and breathed a sigh of relief, adrenaline rushing through my brain in uncomfortable amounts. The slab, although still covered in lichen, went without issue, and I stood on top and took in the views. I could see El Capitan to the West and Middle Cathedral with upper and lower spires on its flank. Half Dome looked down on me from the East. Directly across the Valley stood the giant hulk of Glacier Point, with Staircase Falls cascading down 3000 feet of cliffs, swollen with the growing snow melt. I was filled with a deep appreciation for my life, and for what I saw and was able to do. It felt important.
Paul gave the boulder a few tries but gave up, feeling like the risk wasn't worth it. The day was getting late and my girlfriend was expecting me home. As we started hiking back down, we saw a large towering arête rising out of the talus just begging to be climbed. Holds had been brushed already, so I figured it was one of Mike's FAs.

Paul went first, climbing up the right side of the corner from down in a pit, tried to make the turn around the corner to the left but came off. He talked about his student debt and how he needed to be working to pay it, and decided to skip it, making a perfectly rational decision. I on the other hand decided to give it a go, as it really is a stunning feature, and I felt inspired. Although it is high, maybe 25 to 30-feet of climbing, the upper holds all looked positive. Rounding the corner looked tough but worth a try, so I hopped down into the pit and pulled on. I found mellow , easy moves out of the pit and onto the corner of the arête. As I traversed sideways, all the feet seemed to disappear, but I reached out far to the left and hoped my smears stayed put. I kept my core tight, and moved onto a committing high right foot, shifting my body weight and reaching to the security of a positive undercling.

I had no hesitations this time. Only confidence and a deep understanding that I could and would climb to the top of this meaningless chunk of granite that fell off a wall from a thousand feet above an old Hotel. I floated the final moves and found jugs at the top. It felt magnificent to stand and look out again at the Valley below. We finally hiked out, packed up and met with Mike to say our goodbyes. "Dude I put up a new route by that tall vertical arête, and then repeated the arête too!" I gleefully told Mike.
"Sick dude! Congratulations!" he replied, "I actually hadn't climbed that arête yet but I rapped in and scrubbed the holds, just never got around to doing it."
My ego swelled with pride, with a tinge of regret for inadvertently stealing his line. "Man good job!" he said, putting me at ease as he gave me a hug, "I'm psyched that you did that one, it's tall!" Two onsight first ascents in one day had me floating on cloud nine, and I spent the following days watching and rewatching photos and video Cristina had taken of the climbs on her iPhone. I named them Freebird and The Lookout Tower, sharing the news on social media.
After the thrill and novelty wore off, my thoughts began to drift to how meaningless it all was, risking my life and livelihood, climbing high above terrible landings. What was it that felt so rewarding about it? Was it purely the endorphin release in my head that made it feel important? I'm almost embarrassed that in a world with so many real and unavoidable risks, I would choose to risk my well being for no other reason than fun. Am I no better than a drug addict? Perhaps, but I also thought a lot about how badly I want to get back up there, because I'm pretty sure I saw a really nice overhanging face with just enough crimps to get up. If only I can fix the landing a little.


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