THREE LITTLE FISH
John Long
THE VAMPIRE
Even more than Joshua Tree, Idyllwild was our home. One thousand-foot routes and the snow on distant San Jacinto made Tahquitz look like a page from Buhl's Lonely Challenge, which we all knew by heart.
Richard Harrison, Rock Accomazzo, and I went to the same high school, and had grown up, or grown older together. I will never forget our first look at Tahquitz.
After 20 miles of steep mountain driving, there was a clear view through the pines, and from a striking high vantage, we saw marble-white Tahquitz rear off the escarpment 10 miles across Strawberry Valley. The prominent feature is a bulging shield-like wall on the vertical west fact. When we learned that The Vampire bisected that bulge, it became our ultimate goal. This spectacular route was first climbed by the mythical Royal Robbins in 1959; and for us, at age 17, 1959 smacked of the Bronze Age.
Perhaps a year after that initial view The Stonemasters were born, following a session of bunkweed smoking in Richard Harrison's basement. The only membership requirement was an ascent of Valhalla, the area's only 5.11.
By early 1973, membership totaled about eight, and we were hellbent on demolishing the standards - not really knowing if we could. Several years before, Tom Higgins claimed that all the lines had been climbed. The Stonemasters will always be greatful for this statement, since everyone believed him, and prospective pioneers left Idyllwild alone. True, many of the best lines had been done, but the most spectacular routes still had aid, and The Vampire was the best of the lot, by far.
In May 1973, someone said that The Vampire's first hard pitch - The Bat Crack - might go free. I went up to look, and remember little besides the hand crack that pinched to fingers, and that the hanging stance came none too soon. At 5.10d, The Bat Crack was state of the art, but a glance out left where the next pitch traversed onto the bald, exposed shield told me The Bat Crack was tame stuff after all.
A month later, Mike Graham, Rick Accommazzo, and I were hanging from a belay bolt atop The Bat Crack, eyeing a thin series of holds leading left to The Vampire's flake system. The holds were about ten feet above the A4 seam Robbin's had followed to gain the flake. The tremendous exposure terrified us, particularly Mike Graham who scratched partway out these holds and cranked a mantle he could not reverse. The flake was still some ways left, and Mike said the moves looked impossible. He would have to sink a bolt or risk a bonecrushing fall back into the dihedral. The wall was so steep he could hardly drill, but somehow he managed.
Ricky launched off, gained the bolt, and said he thought he could jump left to the flake...Say what? Remarkably, he tried just that. However, his hands only brushed the flake and he took a sensational, arching fall. He tried several more times, each time, blowing Mike and me away with his outrageous falls. But not so much as when he latched onto the flake and began to layback up the vertical wall, saying it was only 5.10.
An even harder thin crack began at the next hanging belay, but that required no dramatic leaps. Thin locks - which once accepted tied off pegs, and now last digits - led to some dicey smears on tenuous warts, all positioned on what felt like the Shield headwall. After that pitch, the wall eased to 5.8 below the summit. I was so excited I nearly shat in my knickerbockers!
The Vampire was the most pivotal climb I have done, more so than El Cap in a day, since we knew by then what we could do. After The Vampire, gazing way down Strawberry Valley from the summit, we could not believe we had free climbed Tahquitz's greatest prize. Free climbing was in it's infancy, and with the first free ascent of The Vampire, we realized we could author a dramatic change in the sport.
We were not alone, however, as others in different areas - Jim Bridwell, Jim Erikson, Henry Barber, Dale Bard - were drawing the same conclusions. What would come down once we all came into our own was something I could not have foreseen. Most would gain success through experience, technique, and a certain gumption. A few would push this gumption to extremes, into the realm of the insane.
THE EDGE/TURBO FLANGE
Check the Webster's under LUNATIC: "A man whose actions are marked by extreme recklessness."
That was Tobin Sorenson, a man whose exploits at Joshua Tree included following a difficult climb with a noose round his neck.
He did other vexers, but I think his ultimate moment of madness came in 1975, on an improperly named route a Tahquitz, which for nine years was known simply as The Edge (This edge is formed by the left corner of The Open Book's 300-foot dihedral).
A route along this spectacular arete would yield some kind of milestone, or so though veteran climber Mike Heath who, early in 1975, went up for a look. Mike discovered that if anything, the route was insane. After about 40 feet of 5.8, The Edge bulges and becomes doubly extreme, offering no place to stop and place a bolt for at least another 100 feet. This was verified by Paul Richardson, who inspected the entire arete on a 700-foot caving rope strung from the crag's southern shoulder. "Maybe it's climbable, but it's lunacy on the lead," said Richardson.
Hearing his calling, Tobin was on it the next weekend. There would be no inspection. Tobin was far too impatient to do anything but just go for it and see what happened. He was infamous for this tactic, which countless times led to colossal falls that should have killed him ten times over.
How he stayed alive confounded us. Everyone knew his transcendental luck would someday run out. It had to, and it did - but not on the day he started up The Edge.
After the 40 feet of 5.8, the arete bulged and Tobin found the rock unclimbable. Raw boldness would not help. Noting that the angle eased slightly 40 feet above, he moved left to Jensen's Jaunt (5.6), climbed 40 feet, and made a desperate traverse back right to The Edge. Trembling on a 5.10 foothold, he made an astonishing bolt placement and straight- away told belayer Eric Ericksson, "Hold on, I'm going for it!"
"Going for what?" begged Ericksson. The Edge was as bald as a bottle, the only visible feature a wee shelf easily 90 feet overhead. Regardless, Tobin cast off, clawing up the very edge of the right-angled arete, one hand slapping around right, his feet scatting smears on the left side.
According to Ericksson, Tobin was absolutely maxed, out of control. He looked to hinge off at every move.
Upwards of 45 feet out he started sliding down, and only checked this by paddling his feet like a duck before flight. Finally, gaining a hold the size of a wrinkle, he paused, but could not let go. Looking at an astronomical fall, he started sobbing. Ericksson was fit to vomit for stress of fear and anguish. Somehow, he began drilling, dropping the gear after every hammer blow to frantically reclasp The Edge and reset his quaking boots.
After an hour, the hole was almost deep enough. Then the bit broke and Tobin began pitifully wailing. Presently, he lost it altogether and screamed to Ericksson that he was going to go for the shelf above (50 feet of 5.10), or jump. Ericksson begged him to do neither. Following another hour's grief, Tobin secured the bolt, and ran out the 50-foot section to the shelf, whence he slapped in a two-bolt belay. Terrified, Ericksson flatly refused to follow, in no way willing to repeat the epic on the next pitch.
Tobin returned with Gib Lewis, regained the hanging stance and, sure enough, ran the rope all the way to the junction of The Edge and the classic Traitor Horn. The most exciting climb as Tahquitz was completed. Ericksson later returned with a sane partner and repeated the route.
Sticky boots have reduced the difficulties from 5.11 to about 5.10c, and a handful of thrill seekers have had a memorable experience repeating The Edge. Yet, the entire edge had not been climbed; there was still that 40 foot bulge which Tobin had traversed around.
A reconaissance in EB's felt like it might be 5.12. Every local knew the completed climb would be the lead of a lifetime, but no one was willing to carve into their lifetime to accomplish this. As the last Tahquitz plums were getting plucked, there was talk of placing a bolt on rappel. When a young local presented that to me, I said he might as well spit on Tobin's grave.
Tobin had been shot down early. Despite his amazing accomplishments, the climbing world, which rarely looks back, had forgotten him. I had to do this one for Tobin before some twerp botched the adventure with extra bolts.
I went up with Dwight Brooks. When I clipped the bolt below the bulge, I had enough adrenaline to bench press a duplex. I promised myself one, and only one, all-out effort. The rock below looked smooth - no bulges. At a solid 215 pounds, Dwight could hold any fall I should take. Like the upper section, you clasp the arete and paste your feet up at chin-level, left hand pawing for anything to check the barn-door effect. The stick boots work magic here, but a hasty move means hinging off into oblivion. The last move involved a teetering no-hands high step to clip Tobin's first bolt - not too severe, about 5.11a, but the slightest tremor would pitch the leader off for an 80 footer. Thank God I didn't rip. The Turbo Flange was history.
HADES
(a.k.a. Direct South Face, Suicide)
I had six weeks vacation, and was planning to get married in two months. I reckoned to get some last routes in before resigning myself to house payments and tongue lashings. I had no idea if I could regain world-class shape. To do that, 20 pounds of muscle had to go.
After a continuous month of climbing, I was a whippet-thin 205. All the magic had returned, and then some.
When a couple of 5.12's felt reasonable, I knew it was time to strike. I wanted to make a statement while I still had it in me. So, Dwight Brooks, Bob Gaines and I blasted up to Yosemite and free climbed the Lost Arrow, only to be told the first free ascent had been two months prior. Plan B. We went back to Idyllwild and jumped on Stairway to Heaven, an old 5.9 A4 route which took the steepest line on the crag. I had free climbed most of it in 1980 with Lynn Hill. Better fitness and better boots helped check this off at 5.12-. A good, maybe great route, but not the testpiece I was looking for. With only one week left, panic set in and I desperately needed something, some diversion to warm my freezing feet. Bob mentioned the South Face of Suicide. As a relative beginner, Tobin had made the first ascent in 1973 at 5.9 A4+.
The first lead provided possibly the best pitch of granite face climbing I had done. Loads of 5.11, a touch of 5.12-, varied, and all on fabulous orange rock. The next lead, however, featured a grim 25-foot crux, passing two bolts. It was several afternoons before I climbed it through in one go, no hanging. I suggested a 5.13 rating since it felt like B1+ and had sliced my tips to the quick.
Shortly after the route was in print, a notorious, and highly publicized climber stopped by Suicide to bag the second ascent. He didn't bother with the first pitch of 5.12a fluff, but instead, rappelled down to the hanging stance above it. Unbeknownst to him and his entourage, a local (with binoculars) had spotted his antics from atop a buttress, 200 feet left.
To put it mildly, I was told, to star didn't make his mama proud, and his feckless efforts included every base practice in a cheat's repertoire. Later, I read in Basecamp that he had repeated Hades in "an easy afternoon" at 5.12c. Had he put in the requisite days, I'm sure he could have done it legitimately, but such an utter lack of sportsmanship makes me wonder about the new philosophy that anything goes.
In this age of high numbers, only a bitter has-been would claim that hangdogging, etc., does not have it's place. But with Hades, crux involves scraping past what is essentially a bolt ladder, why not try and dick it on the lead - on sight.
All told, I think Caliente (5.12b) is the finest route at Suicide. You clip a bolt and cast off; and 15 feet out there's no fooling anyone. Even so, nearly 10 years after John Bachar's on-sight, first ascent, which included a long whistler, you can see poltroons inspecting the crux by toprope. Maybe in hopes of catching up with the French.
Next time you meet someone claiming that American standards are a myth, give him a roadmap to Idyllwild. There is little fanfare, and the routes are not touted as world breakers. But ever so quietly, some pretty stiff stuff has gone up. Give it a look.
Even more than Joshua Tree, Idyllwild was our home. One thousand-foot routes and the snow on distant San Jacinto made Tahquitz look like a page from Buhl's Lonely Challenge, which we all knew by heart.
Richard Harrison, Rock Accomazzo, and I went to the same high school, and had grown up, or grown older together. I will never forget our first look at Tahquitz.
After 20 miles of steep mountain driving, there was a clear view through the pines, and from a striking high vantage, we saw marble-white Tahquitz rear off the escarpment 10 miles across Strawberry Valley. The prominent feature is a bulging shield-like wall on the vertical west fact. When we learned that The Vampire bisected that bulge, it became our ultimate goal. This spectacular route was first climbed by the mythical Royal Robbins in 1959; and for us, at age 17, 1959 smacked of the Bronze Age.
Perhaps a year after that initial view The Stonemasters were born, following a session of bunkweed smoking in Richard Harrison's basement. The only membership requirement was an ascent of Valhalla, the area's only 5.11.
By early 1973, membership totaled about eight, and we were hellbent on demolishing the standards - not really knowing if we could. Several years before, Tom Higgins claimed that all the lines had been climbed. The Stonemasters will always be greatful for this statement, since everyone believed him, and prospective pioneers left Idyllwild alone. True, many of the best lines had been done, but the most spectacular routes still had aid, and The Vampire was the best of the lot, by far.
In May 1973, someone said that The Vampire's first hard pitch - The Bat Crack - might go free. I went up to look, and remember little besides the hand crack that pinched to fingers, and that the hanging stance came none too soon. At 5.10d, The Bat Crack was state of the art, but a glance out left where the next pitch traversed onto the bald, exposed shield told me The Bat Crack was tame stuff after all.
A month later, Mike Graham, Rick Accommazzo, and I were hanging from a belay bolt atop The Bat Crack, eyeing a thin series of holds leading left to The Vampire's flake system. The holds were about ten feet above the A4 seam Robbin's had followed to gain the flake. The tremendous exposure terrified us, particularly Mike Graham who scratched partway out these holds and cranked a mantle he could not reverse. The flake was still some ways left, and Mike said the moves looked impossible. He would have to sink a bolt or risk a bonecrushing fall back into the dihedral. The wall was so steep he could hardly drill, but somehow he managed.
Ricky launched off, gained the bolt, and said he thought he could jump left to the flake...Say what? Remarkably, he tried just that. However, his hands only brushed the flake and he took a sensational, arching fall. He tried several more times, each time, blowing Mike and me away with his outrageous falls. But not so much as when he latched onto the flake and began to layback up the vertical wall, saying it was only 5.10.
An even harder thin crack began at the next hanging belay, but that required no dramatic leaps. Thin locks - which once accepted tied off pegs, and now last digits - led to some dicey smears on tenuous warts, all positioned on what felt like the Shield headwall. After that pitch, the wall eased to 5.8 below the summit. I was so excited I nearly shat in my knickerbockers!
The Vampire was the most pivotal climb I have done, more so than El Cap in a day, since we knew by then what we could do. After The Vampire, gazing way down Strawberry Valley from the summit, we could not believe we had free climbed Tahquitz's greatest prize. Free climbing was in it's infancy, and with the first free ascent of The Vampire, we realized we could author a dramatic change in the sport.
We were not alone, however, as others in different areas - Jim Bridwell, Jim Erikson, Henry Barber, Dale Bard - were drawing the same conclusions. What would come down once we all came into our own was something I could not have foreseen. Most would gain success through experience, technique, and a certain gumption. A few would push this gumption to extremes, into the realm of the insane.
THE EDGE/TURBO FLANGE
Check the Webster's under LUNATIC: "A man whose actions are marked by extreme recklessness."
That was Tobin Sorenson, a man whose exploits at Joshua Tree included following a difficult climb with a noose round his neck.
He did other vexers, but I think his ultimate moment of madness came in 1975, on an improperly named route a Tahquitz, which for nine years was known simply as The Edge (This edge is formed by the left corner of The Open Book's 300-foot dihedral).
A route along this spectacular arete would yield some kind of milestone, or so though veteran climber Mike Heath who, early in 1975, went up for a look. Mike discovered that if anything, the route was insane. After about 40 feet of 5.8, The Edge bulges and becomes doubly extreme, offering no place to stop and place a bolt for at least another 100 feet. This was verified by Paul Richardson, who inspected the entire arete on a 700-foot caving rope strung from the crag's southern shoulder. "Maybe it's climbable, but it's lunacy on the lead," said Richardson.
Hearing his calling, Tobin was on it the next weekend. There would be no inspection. Tobin was far too impatient to do anything but just go for it and see what happened. He was infamous for this tactic, which countless times led to colossal falls that should have killed him ten times over.
How he stayed alive confounded us. Everyone knew his transcendental luck would someday run out. It had to, and it did - but not on the day he started up The Edge.
After the 40 feet of 5.8, the arete bulged and Tobin found the rock unclimbable. Raw boldness would not help. Noting that the angle eased slightly 40 feet above, he moved left to Jensen's Jaunt (5.6), climbed 40 feet, and made a desperate traverse back right to The Edge. Trembling on a 5.10 foothold, he made an astonishing bolt placement and straight- away told belayer Eric Ericksson, "Hold on, I'm going for it!"
"Going for what?" begged Ericksson. The Edge was as bald as a bottle, the only visible feature a wee shelf easily 90 feet overhead. Regardless, Tobin cast off, clawing up the very edge of the right-angled arete, one hand slapping around right, his feet scatting smears on the left side.
According to Ericksson, Tobin was absolutely maxed, out of control. He looked to hinge off at every move.
Upwards of 45 feet out he started sliding down, and only checked this by paddling his feet like a duck before flight. Finally, gaining a hold the size of a wrinkle, he paused, but could not let go. Looking at an astronomical fall, he started sobbing. Ericksson was fit to vomit for stress of fear and anguish. Somehow, he began drilling, dropping the gear after every hammer blow to frantically reclasp The Edge and reset his quaking boots.
After an hour, the hole was almost deep enough. Then the bit broke and Tobin began pitifully wailing. Presently, he lost it altogether and screamed to Ericksson that he was going to go for the shelf above (50 feet of 5.10), or jump. Ericksson begged him to do neither. Following another hour's grief, Tobin secured the bolt, and ran out the 50-foot section to the shelf, whence he slapped in a two-bolt belay. Terrified, Ericksson flatly refused to follow, in no way willing to repeat the epic on the next pitch.
Tobin returned with Gib Lewis, regained the hanging stance and, sure enough, ran the rope all the way to the junction of The Edge and the classic Traitor Horn. The most exciting climb as Tahquitz was completed. Ericksson later returned with a sane partner and repeated the route.
Sticky boots have reduced the difficulties from 5.11 to about 5.10c, and a handful of thrill seekers have had a memorable experience repeating The Edge. Yet, the entire edge had not been climbed; there was still that 40 foot bulge which Tobin had traversed around.
A reconaissance in EB's felt like it might be 5.12. Every local knew the completed climb would be the lead of a lifetime, but no one was willing to carve into their lifetime to accomplish this. As the last Tahquitz plums were getting plucked, there was talk of placing a bolt on rappel. When a young local presented that to me, I said he might as well spit on Tobin's grave.
Tobin had been shot down early. Despite his amazing accomplishments, the climbing world, which rarely looks back, had forgotten him. I had to do this one for Tobin before some twerp botched the adventure with extra bolts.
I went up with Dwight Brooks. When I clipped the bolt below the bulge, I had enough adrenaline to bench press a duplex. I promised myself one, and only one, all-out effort. The rock below looked smooth - no bulges. At a solid 215 pounds, Dwight could hold any fall I should take. Like the upper section, you clasp the arete and paste your feet up at chin-level, left hand pawing for anything to check the barn-door effect. The stick boots work magic here, but a hasty move means hinging off into oblivion. The last move involved a teetering no-hands high step to clip Tobin's first bolt - not too severe, about 5.11a, but the slightest tremor would pitch the leader off for an 80 footer. Thank God I didn't rip. The Turbo Flange was history.
HADES
(a.k.a. Direct South Face, Suicide)
I had six weeks vacation, and was planning to get married in two months. I reckoned to get some last routes in before resigning myself to house payments and tongue lashings. I had no idea if I could regain world-class shape. To do that, 20 pounds of muscle had to go.
After a continuous month of climbing, I was a whippet-thin 205. All the magic had returned, and then some.
When a couple of 5.12's felt reasonable, I knew it was time to strike. I wanted to make a statement while I still had it in me. So, Dwight Brooks, Bob Gaines and I blasted up to Yosemite and free climbed the Lost Arrow, only to be told the first free ascent had been two months prior. Plan B. We went back to Idyllwild and jumped on Stairway to Heaven, an old 5.9 A4 route which took the steepest line on the crag. I had free climbed most of it in 1980 with Lynn Hill. Better fitness and better boots helped check this off at 5.12-. A good, maybe great route, but not the testpiece I was looking for. With only one week left, panic set in and I desperately needed something, some diversion to warm my freezing feet. Bob mentioned the South Face of Suicide. As a relative beginner, Tobin had made the first ascent in 1973 at 5.9 A4+.
The first lead provided possibly the best pitch of granite face climbing I had done. Loads of 5.11, a touch of 5.12-, varied, and all on fabulous orange rock. The next lead, however, featured a grim 25-foot crux, passing two bolts. It was several afternoons before I climbed it through in one go, no hanging. I suggested a 5.13 rating since it felt like B1+ and had sliced my tips to the quick.
Shortly after the route was in print, a notorious, and highly publicized climber stopped by Suicide to bag the second ascent. He didn't bother with the first pitch of 5.12a fluff, but instead, rappelled down to the hanging stance above it. Unbeknownst to him and his entourage, a local (with binoculars) had spotted his antics from atop a buttress, 200 feet left.
To put it mildly, I was told, to star didn't make his mama proud, and his feckless efforts included every base practice in a cheat's repertoire. Later, I read in Basecamp that he had repeated Hades in "an easy afternoon" at 5.12c. Had he put in the requisite days, I'm sure he could have done it legitimately, but such an utter lack of sportsmanship makes me wonder about the new philosophy that anything goes.
In this age of high numbers, only a bitter has-been would claim that hangdogging, etc., does not have it's place. But with Hades, crux involves scraping past what is essentially a bolt ladder, why not try and dick it on the lead - on sight.
All told, I think Caliente (5.12b) is the finest route at Suicide. You clip a bolt and cast off; and 15 feet out there's no fooling anyone. Even so, nearly 10 years after John Bachar's on-sight, first ascent, which included a long whistler, you can see poltroons inspecting the crux by toprope. Maybe in hopes of catching up with the French.
Next time you meet someone claiming that American standards are a myth, give him a roadmap to Idyllwild. There is little fanfare, and the routes are not touted as world breakers. But ever so quietly, some pretty stiff stuff has gone up. Give it a look.
CLIMBING 104 - OCTOBER 1987