1997 Yosemite Softbody Classic

by Glenn Sager

Somewhat over a year ago, I conceived of the Yosemite Softbody Classics (YSC) tours. Each was to combine gluttony, inebriation, and climbing in roughly equal proportions. Of course the climbing must be aesthetic, but none of that grippy hardman cr@p to get in the way of our baser pursuits. In short each was to be a Sloth Vacation(tm)!

YSC '96 was indeed a tale too sordid to tell! Suffice it to say that I talked John Lohr, Tom Osborne, and John Otterson into that misadventure. We lowered our sites on Snake Hike (Half Dome) and Royal Arches. Countless beers on the way up in Otterson's Mega 'burb, two nights' illegal camping (unbelievably, one behind camp IV!), one climb (the Hike), and margharitas in the Lodge parking lot at 2am compelled us to abandon the Arches plan. "Come over to the soft side," Sloth Vader commanded. We obeyed.

Of course this left uncompleted business, re: Royal Arches. And remarkably, in spite of common sense, my partners in shame were already making noises about returning. Thus the spore of YSC '97 was planted!

Now after last year's fiasco, my partners in crime wisely suggested, nay *insisted*, that I acquire a reserved car campsite so that we may better (and legally) pursue the gluttony/inebriation component. So, as winter yielded to spring, Destinet coughed up the required reservation in the newly flood-remodelled Valley. Then, in the weeks approaching that fateful June weekend, first Osborne gives in to this Weissbier tour of Germany and Otterson falls victim to an acutely embarrassing surfing accident. Fortunately, we re-established our quorum by recruiting Jessica and Jean.

You really must pause to consider what an amusing team we made. Here we were heading for this 5.7 classic and we have Jessica, Mistress (Dominatrix?) of the 5.13 unmentionables. Jean, an aspiring hardwoman with enough enthusiasm to jumpstart a dozen sloths. Then there was Lohr, the Big Daddy Sloth, grizzled mountaineer and admirer of all women. Then there was me, caught between youth and middle age, hardman and wimpiness, and mildly confused by most everything. Many think I'm a polite, clean-cut guy, but Lohr says he knows better.

We headed up to the Valley on Thursday evening in Jessica's deluxe Jeep. Beer, chips, and Jessica's craving for all things MacDonald's could have been entertaining enough. But, the ladies were just beginning to acquire a good rhythm of tag-team male bashing/taunting. Lohr tried occasionally and valiantly to counter, but as would prove true the entire weekend, we were no match. As the eighth hour passed we pulled into our *reserved* campsite #69 of the Lower Pines Campground. "See John, it really is true."

We greeted day one with a nice lie-in. Somewhere around 9am, the last of our numbers slogged over for breakfast, where we attempted to find group motivation. Finding none, we settled for coffee and an early morning session of taunting and abuse. As noon approached, still no motivation to be found, it was decided that we would go to Curry Village to loiter at the Mountain Shop and get ice cream. I think that by 3, a collective shame settled on us. "We really must climb something." With that resolved, we shuffled off the the Apron for the duffer's classic, Harry Daley Route. Traversing along the base, I glanced up at Lean Years and Anchors Away, horrors of my youth. It always amazed me, the contrast of casualness and terror available on the Apron. Back to Harry. We descended upon another party like a plague, instantiating yet another session of friendly taunting. Jean enthusiastically dispatched the first pitch, and I the second. It had been many, too many, months since I had led, but overall I was satisfied that I was at least a solid duffer! Descending to the base, we fired up another abuse session. Then there was the obligatory "moonrise" photo. The other party on the rock were quite impressed by our disfunctional team and suggested that we could make quite a roadshow of it!

Our obligatory "climb" completed, we drove off to the Ahwahnee for a preliminary scoping of the start of the Arches. Now, most hikes to me seem longer than my expectations, even the short ones. But Royal Arches, now that's a duffer's approach! One hundred paces along the bridal path and another hundred up to the base. Of course what greeted us there was less motivating. So this was the "surprisingly awkward" chimney. Not quite a squeeze, not quite hard, but you know you will work harder than you would wish on such a thing. Jean kept hinting at the 5.10+ sporto abortion just to the left. But I wanted to keep true to the route. The morning would suck and so would the first pitch.

Back at the *reserved* campsite, I set about creating a gorgefest of grilled rack of lamb, marinated vegetables, and some nice red wine courtesy of Jean. In parallel, there was an enormous amount of activity as John and Jess sorted through a mountain of hardware for Just The Right Rack. Wine and dinner dispatched, Jean and I confronted an even more obscene array of hardware. For me, a common theme of these recent trips has been the contrast with those of my misspent youth. Then, as an impoverished student, choosing a rack was a straightforward affair. Take all the hexes and stoppers we had and determine which rope was the least scarry. Feeling relatively wealthy before this trip, I had bought three half-sized Friends to compliment the four mangled ones I bought from Ray J in the Camp IV parking lot in 1980. Now Jean examines them as if they were some sort of oddity, "I've never known anyone that used these solid stems." It is miserable being obsolete, but not old enough to be a curmudgeon! Alas we settled on The Rack From Hell: at least 15 cams, a generous handful of stoppers, some of those Lowe tri-cam thingys, and at least a dozen runners. I insisted on a small handful of hexes just for oldtime's sake. Then we packed the pack. Everything seemed reasonable, but in it's totality it was nothing short of a gawd-aweful piglet. It would remain an unwelcome companion throughout the next day.

We sacked out at about 11:30 for a short night's sleep, as I intended on popping up at 4:30 (the early bird get's uncrowded belay stances). The already short night was punctuated -- no, punctured -- between 12:30-2:30 by a group compelled to search for their dog. The campgrounds resonated almost continually with shouts, "MAGIC!!!", and whistles. It was incredible, inexplicable. Jean wanted to shout, "Your dog has been eaten by a coyote. Now go back to sleep!" Yet another of the contrasts between the wilderness beauty that can be Yosemite and the urbanized Valley. That plaintive whail of, "MAGIC!!!" would become yet another motif in our banter. [In reality, it turned out that Magic was really something like "Masziek", a feeble Polish man that wandered from his camp.]

Of course morning came too early. I did my best to be noisy enough to waken my cohorts, while avoiding new wrath from the neighbors. By 5am, three of us were mulling around. By 5:15, Jean had finished the cosmetic detailing that only Jean could have the will to perform, and we were off in the Jeep for the Ahwahnee (to climb, although brunch would have been tempting).

BETA ALERT BETA ALERT BETA ALERT BETA ALERT BETA ALERT BETA ALERT

This could contain substantial beta. If you are one of those purist freaks, here is a synopsis:

The climb was 15 pitches on granite.
Most were Class 5.
It went from the Valley floor to the Rim.

BETA ALERT BETA ALERT BETA ALERT BETA ALERT BETA ALERT BETA ALERT.

We were at the base, roped, and sniping by 5:30. We "let" Jess&John go first. After a little whining and gear-fiddling, Jess passed the chalkstone about 20 ft up the chimney and scrambled up the less awkward remainder. We were off and rolling 15 minutes later. For some reason, Jean let me have the first pitch, which was just fine by me as I regarded following with the piglet to be a minor horror. Not wanting to dink around with placements, I asked Jean for a spot (not really sure of its utility) and just squirmed to the chalkstone and similarly scrambled past a tree to the final chalkstone where a brief slip on some wet rock provided an itty-bitty fall and a much needed wake-up call. Jean followed, towing the piglet by her cordellette. Much battle and cursing ensued. Eventually she topped out with a much greater distaste for our companion. [Beta, tie in short and give the oinker the rest to trail.] The topo said 5.6, which seemed about right.

Pitches 2-4 follow a terrace to the right. We walked to a tree at the start of P2. John&Jean were busy on one of their many off-route excursions. Jean stepped well to the right, off the terrace, and climbed a low-angle crack system (5.4) to yet another tree (YAT). I then got the first of my sucky pitches, hiking and fourth class to YAT. I was trying to be rigorous about belayed climbing, but we really should have simul-climbed this. I greeted John at the belay and commented that I was impressed by their adventurous spirit as Jess charged off on another of their off-route inventions. I don't think we got this one right either, as Jean ascended a short, but awkward off-balance hand crack (5.6). This brought us to a little more third class to the end of the terrace. Just below, we heard some rustling in the bushes as Jess&John were taking on another Less Traveled variation.

Now we were at roughly 1/3 height. Our early start put us first on the route, but by now the numbers were making their way through the P1 chimney and onto the terrace. This included a party of 8. Yikes!

The next four pitches ascend a buttress of cracks directly beneath the leftmost arch of Royal Arches. We were treated to the view of a rivulet dropping off that wildly overhanging arch to the slab below. P5 started with a thin, discontinuous crack (5.7) that led to somewhat easier scrambling to YAT at the base of a shallow tree. John&Jess were off to the right in yet another novel belay stance and seemed to be sorting through a rat's nest of slings. I suggested that, for them, it might be novel just to try the ordinary route for a change. They seemed to cotton to this idea, and Jess scrambled past and up the dihedral. After a while, a familiar refrain was sounded by John as she continued. "Ten feet." "Jess, FIVE FEET." "THAT'S ALL." "Shit." John packs up the belay and starts scrambling, during which Jess finds the desired belay and things get kosher again. Jean scrambles up to me. I was unkind in my lead and neglected to protect the beginning of a traverse. Avoiding the swinger, she took a more abstract (and difficult) line to the stance. Whatever suits, I say. P6 was basically a replay of John&Jess' experience. It was a pleasant, long, and relatively continuous system of hand cracks (5.5). P7 was a short pitch with nothing to recommend, aside from the evolving marvelous views (the book says 5.4, but who's to say it wasn't 5.0, or who cares?). Jean gets P8, a nice clean system of cracks on a low angle face (5.6). Possibly the funnest for her.

Now, Jean has been getting some pretty and decent pitches. I've been getting a lot of chaff. Realizing this earlier, Jean offered to swap, but guided by a heap of selfishness, I had done the arithematic and determined that I was in rotation for P9. I quietly declined. P9 is the Pendulum Pitch. It sits on that beatiful white Yosemite granite, at the top of the buttress, and just below that marvelous Royal Arch. I gather some goodies and scamper up a nice broken dihedral (5.6), to an enormous fixed pendulum rope. The pendulum goes free at 5.9+. I figure I'll give it two tries and if I blow it, just heave-ho on the pendy rope. The pro is embarrassingly good, but hey, some things can't be helped. Easing onto some crystals, easing a little further to the left and the big holds start coming into the picture. About 40 ft further along this nice 1ft wide ledge and I STOP.

We have not been exactly speedy, but nor have we dilly-dallied or "explored" ala J&J. But a party from New Mexico came steaming up and I courteously invited them to pass a few pitches earlier. Be warned, P 9-11 are the bottleneck. Jess is just starting P11, the NM guys are on P10, with the only good belay on the ledge, so I just cool my heals until they clear. Meanwhile I look down to see Honed Girl&Guy (HG&G) at the bottom of P9, and below them, the whole buttress is crawling with parties (remember the group of 8?). Finally I get situated and Jean comes up, doing battle with the piglet throughout the pendy. FINALLY, she gets the sucky Class 4 walk down to YAT. P11 bypasses the old leper log (now gone). I was a little spooked, as I had watched Jess pause more than once on it (remember, 5.13 dominatrix?). Those antics were a mystery to me and I actually had fun laybacking up a couple of flakes (5.7) to a tree at the top of a dihedral. Here some monkey business get you through the tree and onto some minor traversing stuff that takes you left, around the corner of the dihedral to a nice ledge with another spectacular view. P11 sucked big time for Jean. She and El Piglito were not going to go through that tree as one! After several tries, I think she put the beast on a leash. They were definitely not on speaking terms by the time she arrived at the stance.

P12 was another long system of hand cracks (5.6) starting with something that wants to be off-widthish. And I think it was another good lead for Jean. Be forewarned, communication is difficult here. Be even more forewarned about too much pro and rope drag. Jean was nearly eaten alive by it. Once again, I had to jump ship before Jean came into port at the next tree. P13, lucky number 13, was mine. Another sucky one. Traverse under a small flake (throw in a piece of pro just out of boredom). Walk through a bunch of manzanita and up a 5.5 face for about 50 ft to a stance at a small tree/bush. I didn't bother with pro since it didn't seem worth hunting for. Jean got P14, that continued the trend of basically uninteresting climbing and continued the leftward traverse that took her to the fixed anchors of the rappel route.

Finally, P15. I had gotten worked into a lather over this pitch as it was famous for the Traverse Above the Abyss and its high SPF (Sphincter Pucker Factor). But I was also acutely aware of the menace the piglet had been to Jean and offered her the lead rather than be burdened by her porcine freeloader. It must have been generosity of heart, as she turned down the offer. The pitch offered none of the exposure or excitement I expected. Walk about half way across on ledges. Clip a (retro)bolt and continue walking. Granted there is a forest of some sort of folliage to skate into if you blow it, but certainly not the edge of infinity I was expecting. Anyway, after a while one just sort of jumps into the jungle at the other end. Of course, ever intrepid Lohr had other ideas, and sought out a diaper-filling "variant" above where the masses tread. Evidently Jess was unamused by this adventuresome conclusion to the climb.

Jean came across P15 without incident and after some delay, we packed up. The Jungle was just that (sans mosquitos!), very muddy and verdant. Since Lohr had become an engineer last year, I guess he felt compelled to engineer, as he helpfully constructed a chicken line across the last bit of scrambling. Now was time for the *hike* back. This was a bone of contention as Jean was emphatically in favor of the eleven pitch rappel route. I, coming from conservative mountaineer stock, was equally emphatic about *not* rappelling as the consequences came vividly streaming into my mind (e.g. death, jams). Withered from the day's exertions, Jean silently hiked along the rim with us. Fortunately, it turned out that Jean's silence was also related to lack of sugar and some other related neglect. As we passed Washington Column, correcting those deficiencies, Jean became once again the vision of her former self. And now for the last little beta. The Death Slabs. They're imfamous. The little, but well trod path is well marked by ducks. JUST KEEP LOOKING, and just KEEP TRAVERSING. Go until the fall line points back to the middle of the Glacier Point Apron. There is actually "North Dome Gully" carved (small) on a prominant tree branch upon entry of said Gully. We never had any problem getting to the Gully. The descent was tedious Class 2, with a little class 3 below, but you get fine views of Half Dome and Washington Column to compensate.

Finally we hit the road and hiked the twenty minutes to the Ahwahnee. Therein, despite our malodorous and filthy character, they treated us like nobility, serving us rounds of beer and dinner. Somewhat revived and pleasantly intoxicated, we headed off for showers. Then being de-stinkified, we headed back to camp for the blessed margharitas. From there the night took on a warm fuzzy character until the shushes of the neighbors compelled your humble narrator hit the hay.

I (as well as John) greeted Sunday with a slothful content. The same could not be said of Jean as her eyes shifted back-and-forth, antsy for just one more climb in this Climbing Kingdom. Jessica could smell a sporty climb in the offering, thus the two of them plotted. Us men were still unmoved, but perfectly willing to drive the ladies to Church Bowl for some shenanigans. We returned to Curry Village for trinket shopping and the essential ice cream. After two hours of bolt-clipping, the ladies had enough. We piled into the Jeep, said goodbye to that climbing Land of Milk and Honey, and resigned ourselves to another eight-hour drive punctuated by new vollies of abuse.

Final comments on Royal Arches. We took a casual ten hours to do the job. We were quite efficient on racking, rope management, and belays. The belays were absolutely deluxe. All but one had spacious ledges. Almost all had hefty trees -- just lassoo 'em. Amazingly, we used *every* piece of pro on the rack, although obviously a smaller one could suffice. Unless you have a 60m rope, be ready for a bit of simul-climbing if you want the cool belay stances. Judicious simul-climbing could save time. Overall, the appeal of the route is tons of climbing and a wonderful setting. START EARLY!!

Comments?

A Los Alpinistas story by Glenn Sager. Photographs by Richard J. Hughes.