The Nose, VI 5.10 C2

In early September, Will Conley and I climbed The Nose, a stunning route that ascends the 3000' prow of El Capitan, the world's largest granite monolith, in Yosemite National Park. We climbed for four days, spending two nights on the wall and a third on top.

The Nose is often called the world's greatest rock climb, and has been a personal goal for me since I started climbing, over ten years ago. Will and I planned and prepared for the Nose for over a year, accumulating mass quantities of gear and learning big wall climbing techniques on routes such as Prodigal Sun, Moonlight Buttress, and Spaceshot in Zion. We exercised feverishly before the climb, trying to condition our muscles to withstand the abuse we knew they would receive on the climb.

El Capitan
The view of El Capitan from Inspiration Point We piled in Will's red GMC Jimmy (the suspension nearly bottomed out from hundreds of pounds of climbing gear, ropes, and haul bags) and pointed north, towards the Valley, on the morning of September 5th, Labor Day. When, five and a half hours later, we exited the Wawona tunnel into Inspiration Point with a full view of El Capitan framed by the other, lesser, granite faces and spires of Yosemite Valley, we were left awestruck. Suddenly, the courage and commitment built by a year's dreams and boastful talk disappeared. “Holy Shit! We're gonna climb that!”

We drove another few minutes down the road to El Cap Meadows at the base of the cliff, barely managing to stay on the road while our necks were straining to get a glimpse of the granite giant through the thick trees. We pulled the car over, grabbed the binoculars, and jogged out to the center of El Cap Meadows. My heart raced as I tried to catch my breath. Pictures don't do El Capitan justice. You have to sit at the foot of the beast to feel its imposing enormity. I quickly scanned the route through my binoculars, consciously trying to steady my shaking hands and quell the rising nausea in my stomach. Good news. No fixed lines. Only one party of three dragging a pig around Sickle Ledge on the top of pitch four. No traffic jams.

Crowds can often be the crux of the Nose. Climbers travel from all over the world to have a crack at the finest rock climb in the world, and, with a relatively short climbing season, sometimes the route can look like the I-10, I-405 interchange in Los Angeles on a Friday afternoon. Indeed, when I made a previous attempt on the Nose in June of 2003 we couldn't even haul our pig to Sickle Ledge the first day because there were seven people bivying there for the night; this on a ledge that would be quite uncomfortable for two.

A short time later my parents pulled up in their rental car. My parents both knew how badly I had wanted to do this climb and they wanted to be there when it happened. So they had flown to Sacramento, grabbed a rental car, and staked out a tent cabin for the week in Yosemite's Housekeeping Camp. I was a little ambivalent at first about having them there. The only other time they had both come to observe me on a serious climb was on The Diamond of Long's peak on my 20th birthday. I almost died that day in a rappelling accident after we bailed because of severe icefall. However, my ambivalence turned out to be unfounded: the arrangement turned out quite well. My parents took some great photos of us on some of the more famous pitches through my Dad's spotting scope attached to his SLR, and provided some much needed moral support (via radio) during the more trying parts of the climb. After a little chit-chat we grabbed dinner at the Curry buffet and turned in early.

The next day we rose early to fix the first four pitches and get our haul bags to the top of pitch 5. Our plan was to climb the first four pitches; fix four ropes to the ground; run back to the car, get the haul bags; then jug up our four fixed lines, hauling as we ascend; and finally lead and haul to the top of pitch five before rappelling to the ground. It was a lot of up and down, but the reward was that we did not have to haul the first four pitches and particularly the 200' of lose, brushy fourth class choss before the start of the first pitch.

Pitch 1
That's me leading pitch 1, with the entire route looming above me. We started the day by free soloing the fourth and easy fifth class dihedral around the right side from Pine Line. (This was the 5.5 gully next to option A on the supertopo.) This brought us to a flat platform at the base of the “real” climbing. I took the first lead: a slightly awkward right leaning crack. I predominantly aided this, mixing in a few 5.8 moves here and there. While I was leading, another party of two showed up behind us: “The Brendons.” The Brendons were 23 year old free climbing hot shots from Salt Lake City (of course — both were named Brendon). In fact, they hadn't brought any aid gear with them this day. They were going to French free the entire route, modulo the 5.12 and 5.13 pitches, if possible.

Will cleaned and started up the next pitch, pitches 2 and 3 on the SuperTopo, which we were going to link. The new yellow/red hybrid alien turned out to be Will's saving grace on this pitch. It was bomber in all the flaring pin scars where other cams were practically worthless. This pitch had the first pendulum of the route and some of the hardest aid climbing as well (although it's not that bad if you have a yellow/red hybrid alien and if you commit to a couple insecure 5.10 face climbing moves near the end of pitch 3 to avoid the C2+ section). Unfortunately, I ended up leaving Will's #8 stopper on the pitch after bloodying a couple of knuckles and wasting the better part of ten minutes trying to clean it. At the end of the pitch 2/3 linkup we decided to let the Brendons pass us. They were French freeing everything so were climbing roughly twice as fast as we were. This decision did end up costing us about an hour though.

After the Brendons passed us, I started up pitch 4. A little easy free climbing led to a pedestal where one move of 5.9 allowed me to reach a bomber alien placement and start french freeing and then aiding. This pitch is quite traversing and usually has two pendulums. When I led it, the pitch had a tattered old rope with multiple core shots fixed across the traverse. The upper core shot was grinding across an edge as I weighted it. Sketchy! Will lowered off a bight instead of re-aiding the traverse, and in another hour or so we had fixed our lines and were back on the ground.

Will and I
After rapping down from Sickle Ledge We returned to the car, packed up the pigs, and then lumbered back to the base of the wall. Before we started back up we relaxed for a bit and ate lunch with my parents. Before we knew it, it was 5pm! Better get those pigs up there before the sun sets! Will jugged up and started the first haul, which was surprisingly easy considering we had seven gallons of water in the main Fish haul bag (Moby Dick, the Great White Whale) as well as a smaller Metolius haul bag (Little Miss Piggy, a.k.a. The Piglet) and a portaledge attached with catch lines. We were both back on Sickle Ledge with the haul bags docked shortly before 7pm. I led the easy 4th class pitch 5, and built a natural anchor at the end of the pitch with 2 grey aliens, a blue/green hybrid alien, and a tricam. Will tied the pigs in short with a butterfly knot, lowered them out, and I started hauling. The hauling was terrible because I was stuffed in an alcove and the haul line was running over several edges. I had to invert my body completely, push down with my feet and yard on the haul line. It probably took me half an hour just to haul. When I finally got the pigs up and docked them to the anchor, I discovered that the haul line had tied all sorts of knots around itself when the pigs rolled across the face as they were lowered out. I got out my headlamp and set to work untying the mess. After finally freeing the rope, I quickly downclimbed the pitch on belay and we rappelled to the ground in the dark.

Back on the ground, we ravenously consumed a wonderful steak dinner that my Dad had cooked and then went to sleep. We planned on taking the following day off to relax, so we were going to sleep in. It didn't work so well for me though. I had a near sleepless night filled with nightmares about giant, fat pigs. The last haul had me doubting our abilities to get the pigs up. I laid in my sleeping bag listening to my internal monologue: If I was having that much difficulty on one of the first pitches, then how the HELL are we gonna get those damn things up twentysomethin' more pitches! What about Will? I outweigh him by a good 25 pounds. If I can hardly budge those mothers, how the hell is he gonna manage? Shouldn't have brought that portaledge. Too late now, the damn thing's 600' up in the air. Man, we're in deep shit.

I rose early the next morning with a jittery pulse and clammy hands. I headed to the shower and then back to the car, where I poured over the topo and fed my burning self doubts. By the time Will and my parents arose, I had worked myself into a worried mess. I played it cool so as not to affect Will, but inwardly I wanted to disappear. To be somewhere where there were no friggin' rocks.

We ate breakfast while I related some of my trepidation concerning the hauling to Will and my parents. Much earlier, Will and I had decided to climb the Nose sans lower-out line. Leaving the lower-out line on the ground would save us weight and hopefully decrease the clusterfuck factor at all the belays. However, as the previous night proved, the haul bag will roll when it's lowered out, and without a lower-out line it'll tie all sorts of crazy knots in itself. Later that day, my parents bought us a Petzl haul bag swivel to avoid repeating the haul line disaster I had on pitch five. This precious little gem made it onto the short list of gear that we would find absolutely essential in the coming days.

Blast Off
A detailed view of The Nose For the rest of the day on Tuesday, we lounged around and played tourist. I developed a severe headache and nausea on the drive back from Glacier Point. I thought I might be getting sick. There's no way can I climb feeling like this. Part of me was rejoicing with the thought of bailing. No such luck... a couple of Excedrins kicked the headache.

That night I talked with my wife Sarah on the phone. I related my anxieties to her with a shaky voice. “I really think we're in over our heads.” Sarah told me she had faith in me and she knew I was good enough. She reminded me how much I've wanted to climb the Nose. I hung up feeling solid. Ready. That little conversation before I went to bed on Tuesday night probably did more for me than all the planning, all the preparation, all the training I'd done beforehand.

Wednesday morning we were up ridiculously early. We drove to El Cap Meadows stuffing pop-tarts in our faces while blasting U2 (our pre-climb ritual music) on the car stereo. We harnessed up quickly and clipped on an extra gallon of water (we decided to take a little extra, in case we moved too slow) before heading up the trail in the dark. Will started jugging up the fixed lines first, and quickly called down to me that the first line was free. I started the monotonous exercise of mechanically ascending the ropes. Jugging fixed lines in the dark is an interesting experience. Your body is engulfed by utter blackness on all sides, save for the small circle of light that your headlamp tries futilely to fight the darkness with. This circle of light is your only reality, illuminating a small portion of glacier polished granite and the 9mm rope that your life depends on so immediately. Soon, I found myself at the end of the second rope, ready to drop it. We were only planning on taking the top two ropes with us, the other two we were going to drop for my parents to coil up later. The sound of a dropping rope in the darkness was eerie, like a giant otherworldly viper hissing, ready to strike. Once on the top of Sickle, I led pitch 5 again and belayed Will up. We put the swivel on the haul bag and stacked the ropes. We couldn't put the swivel on the right way because the haul bag was weighted, so we put it on upside down, with the large (gold) side down. We didn't think that this would cause any problems. After rechecking everything, we were ready. “All right Dude, let's do it.” Blast off.

Just before 7am Will started up pitch 6/7 which we were planning on linking. He free climbed the entire pitch (a couple moves of 5.9 at the end) and reached the anchor at the end of pitch 6 after only 80 feet. He clipped the bolts, then I lowered him down about fifty feet and he swung wildly across the face to reach the crack below dolt hole. Cool. The first “real” pendulum of the climb. Will finished the remaining 5.8 quickly and I tied the pig in short with a butterfly and lowered it out with the remaining line. Meanwhile, a Nose-in-a-day party had climbed the first four pitches and were starting off of Sickle while I started jugging the pitch. I followed the penjy by lowering out on a bight, but I probably should have rappelled.

The Stovelegs
Beautiful splitter crack... Our next goal was the Stoveleg Crack forty feet to the right, an awesome splitter crack which would lead roughly 400' up to Dolt Tower. I took the sharp end and started to lead pitch 8. I didn't do the penjy or the 5.9 A0 traverse into the Stovelegs. Instead, I lowered directly from the belay and then did a tension traverse, pulling on the last bolt of the 5.9 A0 variation but not clipping the rope to it. This was easy and quick. The rest of the pitch is 120' of unbelievable 5.8 hands. I free climbed all of it, relishing the bomber hand jams. Near the top, I had to wait ten minutes for the Nose-in-a-day guys who had passed us shortly before. (This was the only time we had to wait for them. They ended up not finishing the climb in a day, but rather bivying at Camp V.) Will once again tied the pig in short and lowered it out. The bags rolled around the corner, but the ropes stayed completely orderly: the swivel was a gift from God.

Will led pitch 9, free climbing nearly all of it except for the 5.10 offwidth near the end. He really struggled here: first trying to free climb, then French free, then finally he did it on aid. I cleaned the pitch quickly and met Will at the belay where he was finishing the hauling.

“Whoa, check that out!” I said, staring at the top of the haul bag.

“Holy Shit!” Will looked down and immediately noticed what I was talking about. The swivel had cross loaded the main haul biner (a Petzl William ball-lock), opened the locking gate, and all of our gear was currently being hauled merely by the open gate of the biner, literally millimeters from slipping off and careening into the void below. We quickly realized why the swivel must be clipped in the correct orientation: the black side is much smaller and can't possibly slip over the gate of a locking biner.

How NOT to use a swivel NEVER use a swivel upside down!

After we recovered from our near catastrophe, I linked pitches 10 and 11, free climbing about two thirds of them, but resorting to crack jugging on #3 camalots on the 5.10 fist crack near the top of pitch 10 and the offwidth on pitch 11. The #4 camalot came in handy here. This got us to the top of Dolt Tower, where we could catch our breath. We manhandled the haul bags to the right side of Dolt Tower and ate a quick lunch (pepperoni & cheese on bagels) before Will set off to lead pitch 12. We decided not to combine 12 and 13 because we didn't have a lower-out line. This probably was the right decision. Will led pitch 12 free at 5.8 then I lowered out the bags and jugged up to start 13. I French-freed a lot of pitch 13 and then resorted to crack jugging on camalots because my shoes kept getting unbelievably stuck in the crack. Only one more pitch to El Cap Tower, our bivy for the night! Will led the pitch free at 5.7, hauled quickly, and belayed me up. When I arrived at El Cap Towers we still had about half an hour of daylight left, so we decided to fix one more pitch: The Texas Flake. The Texas Flake is a giant, detached flake with a 5.8 chimney behind it. The chimney itself was pretty easy. I kept my back against the flake and found adequate footholds on the other side the whole way up. A fall would be bad here though. There is only one bolt protecting the entire chimney.

El Cap Towers
Our plush bivy for the first night Shortly after dark Will and I were both back on the plush ledge of El Cap Towers. This flat ledge is about 20' long and 4' wide, making for an incredibly comfortable bivy.

We dined on chemically heated, steaming hot MRE's (“Chili Mac” for Will, and “Beef Steak” for me) while savoring our precious water and gatorade and reminiscing about the near catastrophe with the swivel earlier that day. I was mildly concerned about our water consumption. We drank ten liters total on the first day, which was two more than we had originally rationed.

We said goodnight via radio to my parents, who had watched us all day and were anxious to head back and get some dinner and sleep. They promised to be back early on Thursday to take some pictures of the King Swing. After a brief conversation with Sarah on Will's cell phone we turned in. I slept a little better than the previous night, but I still woke up sporadically throughout the night.

I woke on Thursday morning to a gray/blue sky before the rising sun. After rubbing my eyes I dug through Will's small day pack looking for my watch. 5:40! We slept in! We had intended on getting up a little before 5 so we could eat, pack up, and be moving at daybreak. “Hey Will, the alarm didn't work. We gotta get moving.”

After a delicious breakfast of canned fruit and cliff bars we both partook of another big wall rite of passage: the wall dump. It's really not that bad. We used full size paper grocery bags that we had previously cut to stand about 6 inches high, sprinkled in some cat litter, and squatted right down in. Afterwards, we folded up the paper bag, put it into a plastic grocery bag, and crammed it through a door that we cut in one of yesterday's empty 2-liter water bottles. A little duct tape sealed the door nicely, at which point the bottle could simply be clipped under the haul bag and (temporarily) forgotten about.

Our morning rituals complete, we packed the pigs and started up the fixed line. In another half an hour, we were both on the top of Texas Flake with the pig, ready to start the day's climbing. Will led the next pitch, Boot Flake, without difficulty. After aiding the initial left-angling bolt ladder, Will committed to his first cam hook move before reaching the crack behind the flake. I followed the initial bolt ladder on aid, and then started jugging when the line stopped traversing.

“Meadows to Captain, come in please,” my radio crackled.

The King Swing
A composition of several photos of me performing the King Swing. Didn't quite make it on these tries... “Good morning! How are you guys?” We conversed a little with my parents who had just arrived in El Cap Meadows. Soon, our focus shifted to the next pitch, and one of the logistic cruxes of the route: the infamous King Swing. The end of this pitch is about sixty feet directly to the left of the top of Boot Flake. In order to get there, the leader must lower down and do a massive pendulum over to an adjacent crack system, and then climb this. In the past, the leader would clip a fixed piton after an initial pendulum, then lower down further and do one more pendulum: in effect breaking it into two penjys. We'd heard numerous reports that the old pin was missing, so you either have to place some small, crappy nuts in its place, or try to do the entire pendulum in one massive swing: “The Emperor Swing.” I elected to try the Emperor Swing. Will lowered me down just past the toe of Boot Flake.

“All right dude, here goes!” I first ran to the right to gain momentum for the swing back left. After a couple wild swings, I reached a small crack where the old pin was. However, I needed to go at least twenty feet further and over a small arête.

“Lower me another 10 feet.” Now I was well below the toe of Boot Flake. I once again took off for the pendulum. I ran across the face to my right as fast and as far as I could until I swung rapidly the other direction. I took bounding leaps as I went. The wind was whistling through my helmet as the granite blurred by. Three or so swings at full speed allowed me to slap the arête with my left hand — but it wasn't quite far enough. My hand slipped off the sloping arête as I careened back across the face. I was at least seven feet short. How the hell am I gonna do this? Is this possible?

“All right Will, another five feet.” Will lowered me until I was well past 100' altogether. I was currently twenty feet below the “sole” of Boot Flake. I took a deep breath and charged like a bull across the granite to my right. I slowed down gently, then rapidly accelerated back to the left. My steps were skipping ten to twenty foot sections of granite as I hurled myself across the face in giant, flying leaps. I slapped the arête again — but didn't quite make it. I swung rapidly back, tapping my feet hard after a twenty foot section without touching. I could break an ankle here if I'm not careful....

Got it!
A series of photos of me successfully pulling off the King Swing “Three more feet Will, just three more.” Will paid out the requested slack as I caught my breath for the next attempt. I charged across the granite again, this time making a dive at the end of the penjy. My left hand caught a small crimper a few feet on the other side of the arête. I quickly pasted my other limbs on the wall and did a few delicate face climbing moves while the rope was pulling me back to the right.

“MADE IT!”

“All right! Way to go! That was wild!” my mom congratulated me through the radio.

I French freed and aided the remaining 90' of the pitch quickly. Then Will tied the pig in really short and lowered it out. After hauling, I docked the pig and then released the haul line, which Will was still holding onto. Will used the haul line to rappel while using a jug and his cinch on the lead line to pull himself over. This worked perfectly. We had worried previously about following this pitch without a lower-out line (most people use the third rope to rappel) but our system worked flawlessly. However, I think the swivel was absolutely essential.

After the King Swing, we looked up at a party of two rappelling above us. They had an old bong tied to the end of their lines which was banging like a cow bell across the rock as the wind blew their ropes around. (The thermal breeze on El Cap keeps the hot temps in check, but it can be intimidating and cause hell with your ropes.) It turns out that this party was inspecting the bolt anchors on the rappel route and replacing old bolts.

Will combined pitch 18 with part of 19 (using nearly all 60 meters of our rope), stopping at the alternative anchor on the SuperTopo. When cleaning this pitch, a bight of rope got seriously caught in the crack below me. I rappelled back down to it and spent about five minutes clearing it. I managed to reach the knot with my nut tool, but if it had been much deeper we may have had to cut the rope. Not Good. Especially if you only have two ropes. After cleaning the rope I jugged up to the chain that Will had clipped and done a tension traverse from at the end of his lead. Not thinking, I pushed a bight of rope through the rappel ring to lower off from it. I lowered off, and then looked back up when I was about ten feet from Will.

The Gray Bands
Pitches 19 and 20, and a crazy old dude (between Boot Flake and Camp IV) “Oh Shit. I should have rapped. There's no way I'll be able to pull that bight back through.” The wind was whipping the four strands of rope leading back and forth from me to the chains above. I couldn't even tell which strand led where. I'm sure that if I had tried to pull the bight through, we would have gotten the rope stuck up there and had a nice little epic. Unfortunately, there was no good way to ascend. I set up my jugs and started to ascend, but I was lowering (and now ascending) on a two-to-one: every time I jugged two feet, I only made one foot of progress. Slow and Stupid. I got frustrated toward the end and just grabbed all four lines and batmanned my way up. I cleared the bight mess, set up a rappel, and finished cleaning the pitch. Poor rope management cost us quite a bit of time on this pitch.

The next pitch would combine half of 19 with 20 and get us to Camp IV. I started off the traverse and the 5.7 down-climb and soon clipped the anchors at the end of 19. I paused to check the topo in my pocket. “Hmmm... topo says take the leftmost of the right-facing corners... not the first one. Guess I've got to face climb out to it.” After some thin, reachy 5.10 face climbing way out from my pro I realize I must be off route. How the hell did I manage to get myself off route on The Nose? It turns out there are at least three right-facing corners here and the route ascends the most obvious (middle) one. I carefully retraced my moves and started back up. At the top of the crack you must exit on 5.11c face moves or C1. I “Russian” freed this: I free climbed it, but used my knee hooks in the hanger of the bolt before the 5.11, and then I used them to actually hook a small edge. It sounds a little sketchy, but it was fast and bomber.

The Great Roof
That's Will leading the Great Roof pitch, about to start out under the roof itself (to the right).

Once at the end of the pitch we realized that not having a third line was definitely a problem here. The pitch had traversed nearly 100' and we didn't have enough haul line left to lower out the pig. So we just left it there. Will cleaned the pitch quickly, and I immediately led the next easy and fun 5.9 pitch (pitch 21) to get us under the Great Roof. When Will was halfway up pitch 21, he stopped ascending and instead rappelled all the way down to where the pig was docked, about 190' below. Then I hauled while Will jugged back up. It cost a little more time, but it worked quite well.

The next pitch may be the most famous of all: The Great Roof. The pitch ascends a tiny crack up to the massive roof and then cuts right, immediately under the roof, fifty feet to the anchors. Will dispensed with the Great Roof quickly. He led the entire pitch in just under fifty minutes, back-cleaning all of our gear except for a nut and a blue alien. For pro, he had clipped almost exclusively fixed gear, of which there was a wide variety. The last fixed piece was particularly interesting. A pink tri-cam was placed sideways in small vertical slot, “nose” out, with no camming action whatsoever. Moreover, its nylon sling was gone, replaced with the cable of a micro nut that somebody girth-hitched to it. Lovely.

“Lynn Hill is my hero. How the hell did she free climb this?”

The Pancake Flake
Me free-climbing the Pancake Flake Above the Great Roof, the remainder of the route ascends upwards in an immense, beautifully sculpted dihedral capped by the summit overhangs, which beckon 1000' overhead. Pitch 23, immediately after the Great Roof, was one I'd been looking forward to for a long time: The 5.10 Pancake Flake. I'd wanted to free climb this pitch ever since I saw a picture of it when I was fifteen years old. And free climb it I did. After the wonderful 5.10 lieback flake I aided the thin 5.11c finger crack. One more pitch, with some awkward aid in a nasty flare followed by some 5.5 free climbing, led to our bivy for the night: Camp V. Will led this entire pitch in the dark, climbing by headlamp.

We were quite thankful that we brought the portaledge. Camp V kinda sucks. We set up our bivy and once again feasted on steaming hot MRE's (“Chicken with Salsa” for Will and “Chicken with Thai Sauce” for me). We had been working so hard all day that neither of us had really taken the time to eat lunch, so we were hungry and exhausted. We finally turned in at midnight. Will's Metolius portaledge was wonderful. We both slept like rocks.

Camp V
This is our less-than-plush bivy at Camp V. Will's tucked in cozily in his portaledge, and our gear is hanging all over the place. Friday morning we were up at 6:00. After another hour or so we had eaten breakfast, taken care of our daily wall rituals, broken down the bivy, packed the pigs, and we were ready for our last day on El Cap. Will led up and right on easy rock to a pair of thin, vertical cracks. The route follows the extraordinarily thin left crack initially, and then moves right into a slightly wider crack. Will begain aiding on super thin gear, but seemed satisfied with it and moved quickly. At one point, he did three cam hook moves in a row. Fun. The pitch ended at a small, flat, triangular ledge that overlooks the entire route. This was the Glowering Spot, so named because, on the route's first ascent, Warren Harding broke his hammer here and was in a foul mood.

I led the next pitch (pitch 26), which I began by crack jugging the initial easy acute left-facing dihedral, mysteriously labeled C1+ in the SuperTopo. I hardly left any pro in this section, save for 1 or 2 cams and a really funky fixed piece.

“Hey Will, you're gonna love this piece!”

The funky fixed piece was just the “head” of an old, stuck friend (all cables and wires had been removed) which I girth-hitched with a runner. Awesome pro. The aid crack reached a small ledge after about 60', at which point I stowed my Russian aiders and daisies to free the remainder of the pitch. The SuperTopo shows two possibilities midway on this pitch: simply continue up the crack, climbing “awkward” 5.8, or traverse right 20', climb a 5.8 offwidth, and then traverse back into the original crack system. I chose to stay in the crack system, which I think was the best way. The climbing was quite straightforward. This brought us to Camp VI, which had a lot of garbage stuffed around the ledge and a lingering smell of urine, but really wasn't all that bad.

Will led pitch 27, the famous Changing Corners pitch. This pitch was one of the more time consuming pitches of the route. After 15' of 5.8 free climbing, Will started aiding up the steep dihedral. After about 70', he reached far to the right and clipped a bolt (the second bolt in the bolt ladder). The bolt allowed him to reach around the sharp edge and place a small brass nut in the right-facing corner. This corner was really thin and had some of the trickier aid climbing of the route. Will aided it on small HB offset nuts, a Lowe ball nut, some of the smallest aliens, and the usual assortment of sketchy fixed gear. The pitch ended at a stark, super-exposed hanging belay 150' above Camp VI.

Pitch 28
The hanging belay at the end of the Changing Corners pitch Will fixed the lead rope and was soon ready to haul. I released the pig and prepared my cinch and left jumar to ascend the fixed line. I noticed that the rope was running over the sharp edge above, where Will “changed corners.”

“Hey Will, what's that corner like? The rope is really running over it.”

“Hold on a sec, I'll check it out.”

Will took a particularly long body-haul stroke to descend 60' and check out the edge.

“Wow. It's super sharp. I'll tape it.”

It turns out that the small nut Will placed as his first piece in the right-facing corner pulled and the rope slid up higher on the superbly sharp 90° corner. When I got up to the corner, the jugging motion of the rope over the corner had chewed through several layers of duct tape that Will placed on the edge to pad it. Be careful here. Your rope (and follower) could easily get the chop if you don't pad that edge.

“Meadows to Captain, Meadows to Captain,” our radios crackled.

“Hey guys! How's the view from down there?”

We chatted with my parents, who had just arrived for the day, before I started up the next pitch.

Pitch 28 was fast and easy. I crack-jugged the 5.10d overhanging, right-facing corner on the initial part of the pitch with nothing but #1 Camalots. After the overhanging section, the crack widens slightly to a splitter 5.8 hand crack. I cruised up the perfect crack, running it out and relishing the bomber hand jams.

The Nose
If you download the full-size version of this photo and zoom all the way in, you can actually see us on pitch 28! “This crack would be a five star classic at J-Tree,” I radioed down.

“Awesome! Enjoy it,” Will responded.

Soon, Will and the pigs were both up. After stacking the ropes and cleaning the rack, we spoke nervously about the weather. While I was leading the previous pitch, we both had noticed puffy cumulous clouds building up on the valley rim across from us.

“Captain to Meadows, come in please.”

“Meadows here. What's up?”

“Did you guys get an updated forecast?”

“Yeah, w-underground says clear and sunny with a slight chance of T-storms.”

Will started leading pitch 29 and I dug around in the haul bag, making sure our rain gear was accessible. The temperature was dropping pretty quickly. I donned my long sleeve Capilene shirt and my windproof fleece, but was still a little chilly. I looked up to see Will finish the initial 5.10d right-facing corner (he aided this) and enter the low-angled 5.6 trough above. The final summit overhangs jutted out impressively, just 200' overhead. Above, small cumulous clouds were racing over the top of El Cap. I turned around and noticed that the weather was deteriorating in the Valley. It was raining in numerous spots across the Valley, and a thunderhead seemed to be building up just north of us. Shit. Just what we need.

“Meadows to Captain, we're getting a few drops here — nothing much.”

“What's it look like behind El Cap?”

“Looks okay, a few clouds, but probably nothing. Don't worry about it, I don't think it'll turn into anything substantial.” My Dad's voice sounded reassuring, and helped calm my fears. They'll probably give us several minutes of warning if a T-storm really is brewing up there.

Will was deep into an alcove now, finishing the unpleasant 5.6 trough that was laden with bird shit. He made quick work of the 10d overhang above, aiding it on mostly fixed gear. Will hauled quickly and soon we were both catching our breath at the belay.

“I see why the SuperTopo calls this a ‘wild stance,’” Will said, gesturing to the small ledge where we were precariously perched. Below, a steep slab ended abruptly after fifty feet, exposing nearly 3000' of air. Wow. Fortunately, the weather seemed to be taking a turn for the better. The clouds were dispersing rapidly to the southeast.

I guzzled some Gatorade, cleaned the rack, and started leading up pitch 30. Pitch 30 was short (at 70') and easy. It was also the only pitch I aided entirely. We probably should have combined this pitch with either pitch 29 or pitch 31.

The summit bolt-ladder
Will, leading the bolt ladder on the final pitch of The Nose Will took the final lead. Pitch 31 surmounts the summit overhangs via a long bolt ladder that ends on a short 5.5 slab. Will finished the pitch just as the sun set, casting soft pink and purple hues across the scattered clouds. In a couple of minutes Will radioed down that he was ready to haul. I released the pig, which swung out into space, twenty feet from the wall.

I radioed to Will my “haul away” command once more: “Will, you're pullin' pork.”

Soon I was dangling in midair by my 10.5 millimeter nylon rope, just below the lip of the overhang, staring at all 3000' of the route which majestically spilled out below to the darkening ground. The exposure was simply unimaginable. I was looking down from over twice the height of the world's tallest building. Intense.

I sat back in my harness for a moment, slowly spinning around the blackening void below, trying to let my mind catch up. As I dangled there, 3000' above the ground, under the twilight sky, everything became clear. All the sweat, the pain, the work, all the bliss and joy, the overwhelming paranoia and self-doubts, the striking panoramic vistas, all the outrageous experiences of the previous three days abruptly harmonized into a moment of living symmetry and lucid purpose.

Without realizing it, I had been seeking this moment for my entire climbing career. The beauty, the intensity, of life's singular moment was overpowering. Never before had I been so immediately aware of my own existence, my own life. I felt as if I had woken from an eternal slumber.

The moment lasted for perhaps a minute. I finished cleaning the pitch in another few minutes and helped Will drag the pigs up another fifty feet to the famous summit tree.

“Yeah! We did it! The Nose!” I yelled.

“Congratulations guys! We are so proud of you!” my parents radioed.

On the summit
Me, surrounded by piles of gear, standing at last on the summit of El Cap Being back on the horizontal ground was disorienting. Both Will and I were incessantly stumbling around as if we had forgotten how to walk. Our bodies were thoroughly acclimated to a vertical world and our senses of balance rebelled at these new horizontal surroundings. It took us a couple of hours to shake the dizziness and regain our equilibrium.

“Big wall climbing is strong drink for a young mind. Few can handle it neat; most are hung-over for hours, even days.”

We both staggered around in no particular direction, giddy with the joy of our accomplishment, and enjoying the freedom to be able to move where we wanted to at will. For the last three days we were imprisoned by our rope and our daisies. Big-wall climbing is a bit like dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean: you're surrounded by all the empty space you can imagine, but you have nowhere to move.

That night, we guzzled much of our remaining water and Gatorade, finally quenching the thirst built up by three days' work and dehydration. We had about ten liters left, having consumed ten the first day, eight the second, and about six on the final day. We feasted on our left over food, splitting the remaining MRE (“Country Captain Chicken”) and several crushed pop-tarts, fig newtons, candy, and beef jerky.

We set up our sleeping bags nearby and enjoyed an unparalleled view of the night sky after the crescent moon set, revealing the Milky Way glowing brightly overhead. I closed my eyes just after two shooting stars streaked across the blackness above.

The next morning we rose just before sunrise, and started packing the pigs for the East Ledges Descent. We took our time, enjoying being a bit lazy for once. At 8am we finally saddled up: Will with the giant Fish haul bag, stuffed full of our lighter gear, with the ropes secured across the top; and me with the smaller Metolius haul bag, packed full with the rack and other climbing gear, and with the portaledge strapped to the top.

Finished at last
Will, my mom, and I, at the end of the trail down from the summit On the way down, we passed a party of three who had topped out on Tangerine Trip the previous evening. They convinced us not to get sucked into the manzanita tunnels, but rather to stay as close to the edge as possible. This trio had hired horses from Tuolumne Meadows to meet them near the summit. I think they had the right idea.

We had forgotten the descent beta in the car, but fortunately, my parents had it, and were reading it to us over the radios as we descended. It's all pretty straightforward if you stay right when ever possible. However, down-climbing fourth class with eighty pounds of gear strapped all over you can be a little sketchy. We finally meandered our way to the start of the rappels (option B on the SuperTopo), which were fortunately all fixed.

During the rappels we passed a trio ascending the fixed ropes. These three were part of a German film crew who were going to film the Huber Brothers as they attempted a new speed record on the Nose. On the first couple days of our climb, we saw the Hubers working out the moves on the first four pitches, but unfortunately we never met them.

Just after the third rappel, I clipped myself in with my daisies, cleared the rope from my reverso, and yelled up to Will, “Off rappel!” I checked out the next set of anchors and relaxed for a moment before Will came down.

“YEEEEEEEE-HAWWW!!!” I heard a crazed cowboy's voice echo across the crags. What the hell was that...

“YEEEEEEEE-HAWWW!!!” I looked up, and saw Will, his untamed hair blowing in the wind, riding the pig down the rope above, left arm extended and waving his climbing helmet in broad strokes across the cobalt blue sky. Just like Slim Pickens in Dr. Strangelove, riding the bomb to oblivion.

“I'M A CHAMPION PIG 'RESTLER!!!” Damn right. Will may be crazy, but he sure can handle his swine.

Back on the ground
That's me, just moments after finishing the descent: cold beer in hand, standing in the meadows below El Cap, with The Nose directly behind me.
Damn. We climbed THAT. Four hours after we left the summit we were finally down. We said a quick goodbye to my parents, who had to catch a flight out of Sacramento, and then drove to the base of El Cap. We both stood there in the center of El Cap Meadows, beers in hand, awe-struck by the immensity of the monolith. It looked like it was twenty miles high. Damn. We climbed THAT. The experience already seemed impossibly foreign, as if it had all been a dream or something. We stared for a few moments more then jumped back in Will's car. We took LONG showers at the Houskeeping Camp, then quickly headed to Curry Village to try to set a new world record for pizza eating. For toppings, we decided that we needed both pepperoni and sausage, to show that damn pig who's really the boss.

Epilogue

For two days after the climb, neither of us could make a fist. My ankles were as big around as my calves, and a funky yellow/blue color to boot. I experienced a sharp pain in the center of my chest whenever I took a step. Surprisingly, I gained weight. The day after the climb I weighed six pounds more than before I had left. My wife (a nurse) thought it was just water weight from all the swelling and excess hydration due to my nonstop guzzling of water (and a little beer). Sure enough, after two days I lost eight pounds, weighing two less than before I started the climb. (At 3% body fat, I don't have a lot to spare.) After about four days our bodies recovered completely. What's next?