turtle on zodiac

My idea grew from dream to plan, it picked up momentum,and it took over my body. Even as my mind waffled-are you sure?- my body kicked into action, tracking down gear that lay scattered through the house, still chaotically disseminated from the last wall a week prior. The weather turned, the storm blew out, it’s good, you have to try! I packed, I cooked, friends piled on my couch for an early friendsgiving, I worked Thanksgiving, I shot out of bed the next morning and I beelined for Yosemite. 

Day 1- Impatiently drive 6 hours. Noon-thirty, hiking, up familiar trail, swaying under towering pack, scanning the ground for dropped treasures. 2pm-climbing, spooky, I haven’t aid climbed since June! 4pm-tired. I lowered off the anchor of the first pitch of Zodiac and sat on the ground holding my turtle, feeling deflated and slow. I was too tired to fix the 2nd pitch and the first one felt hard and scary. And the route looked wet. My week caught up to me, the emotions of the day before rolled over me. The patient I had taken care of was going to die and he knew it. I felt frustrated that it was hitting this hard. Usually they don’t follow me so far from home anymore. But rarely do people sacrifice themselves in the way that this man did. I wished I was home. And then Katrina and Tim popped over a rock, all smiles and Oreo cookies, big hugs from friends-we saw you from the road, we wanted to say hi! Tim cooked us dinner in the van on the bridge while Katrina and I lay on the dog bed with Novi and I voiced my doubts and my noodly-ness. Think about it in the morning.

Day 2-I slept in a familiar parking spot, woke to the chilly smell of damp leaves, stared up at Yosemite Falls in the quiet morning air, misty and thundering down around ice, glistening in the morning sun. Maybe. I drove to the meadow, ate a slow breakfast with Tim and Katrina, and decided to climb one pitch. My sweet friends carried my ledge and food up with me as I trudged my water up, gave hugs and support and the offer-if you don’t feel like it, we’ll help you carry everything back down. What amazing friends! I felt so loved and supported.

I jugged back up, haltingly backcleaned the roof, clipped the bolt, and started moving more confidently. I remembered about cam hooks. As I hauled my bags up from the ground I found a rhythm and felt a little better, my body was remembering how this worked. Now and then droplets of rain exploded on my face and doubt wrinkled my eyebrows. I decided to at least sleep at the p3 belay. Then bail. I reached the sloping ledge as dusk crept into the Valley, cleaned, hauled, battled the rainfly and ledge, and finally made dinner half under the fly. The spray from above relentlessly splattered down on me, but I found the drum of the raindrops on the fabric soothing. I tucked Lolly turtle into a safe pocket, tugged the fly down, and closed my eyes.

Day 3- p3-6 I slept fitfully, having been started out of a falling dream that ended in a hot white spray of light. My heart drummed frantically in my chest. I’ve never had a dream like that before. Hot chai tea helped dispel the morning cold but I tried to pack my soggy things up quickly. One more pitch and I can bail from the pitch 4 anchors. Except- I started climbing, flowing, and smiling. It was dry. The C1 of pitch 4 was easy, fun, I was sinking my little fingers into the cracks and getting so tall in my ladders, and then hook, hook, bolt bolt bolt etc., I was at the funky pitch 5 traverse (maybe I should have taken the left way) but there I was. Cleaning that pitch, not so fun, but then I was on the Black Tower. I wedged my foot into the wide crack and sat atop the pillar, looking up at the thin beak seam. I clipped a couple fixed beaks, gingerly, mindful of the tower underneath me. I started humming. I placed a 0, a small offset, started loudly singing the Monkey and the Engineer, my favorite scared song. I hand placed a beak for the first time. Stay! As I got higher and higher on the pitch I felt more and more stoked. Offsets! Aid climbing is fun! I sang as I reached the Pearly Gates Ledge and settled in to my new home for the night. 

I sit cross legged in an amphitheater of stars

The convex silhouette of the steep wall that curves above me and the jumbled skyline of the rocky Cathedrals in front of me form a black mouth

I am in this mouth

Every morning that I wake up on the side of this cliff I am reborn

Climb rap jug haul

Climb rap jug haul

The rhythm of my new heartbeat

I’m tired, I had said.

And my roommate had said-

You’re not tired enough

And I took it personally

Until I climbed into this jagged mouth that opens to breathe in the entire universe of stars

And nibbles on the edges of the moon 

And licks the sides of the sun

He’s right

If you can open your hands

Step one foot up and then the other

Still tilt your head to look at those faraway stars

You're not tired enough

Day 4-p6-9 The morning passed too quickly and the sun was radiant by the time I started climbing. I traversed up and left across the slab and then pretended I didn't exist for the entire pendulum off the fixed rivet hanger, remembering when I had ripped one in the spring and taken a ride-but it was fine. I climbed into the White Circle with hooks, hand placed beaks, and .3s as my close friends. Sunny! Everything was a hanging belay now. I was flagging my new to me ledge for the first time ever because I was nervous I wouldn’t be able to set it up at a hanging belay. That cost time too. I started up the Flying Buttress Pitch, trying to ignore the clenched feeling in my belly that I was going to have to climb in the dark. The most exciting/scary part- a fixed beak, a handplaced wiggle beak, a tiny pecker beak tip, and then top stepping on a talon hook and swinging the reachy draw until it finally snapped around the bolt! I hung on that bolt, yelled and whooped–with relief, exhilaration, a loud reminder to the world that I was really up here. At the next belay I snacked, preemptively put my headlamp on, and reminded myself to be brave. I didn’t think I had another pitch like the one before in me, but the Nipple Pitch ended up being much less involved and it was only truly dark for half of it. The scariest part was rappelling back down to the bag and feeling like the dark void was going to devour me. I imagined my rope just disappearing (it’s fixed to the bag!) and I sang out loud until the bags reappeared out of the pitch black night. Sleeping under the roof at the top of p9 might be the coolest spot I’ve ever slept. The wall fell steeply away underneath me, I felt like I was a secret little bird tucked away under the roof, nestled in my warm layers, sheltered from the world. I felt exhausted and spent and so happy. I kissed my turtle goodnight. 

Bird girl up in the sky

She’s never coming down

Day 5- p10-12-the boys below me were up at 3:30 in the morning and the wind carried their voices straight up to me. I was so grumpy. I headed up the next pitch and every time I peed I hoped it would hit them. I did a big free move off a hook, feeling very proud of myself until I realized I had gone left to the free climbing anchor. I lowered off the anchor back onto the route, letting go of the annoyance of making a mistake-there’s no perfection here, there’s just trying and continuing upwards. I kept going. Two more pitches, then the A ratings go away and you go back into the haul bag, I told Max (II), my hammer. I hadn’t used him yet but I was reassured by his just-in-case presence. I was ready to stuff some extra gear back in the bag though. I climbed through the distinctive “Z” shaped crack. It started raining on me just past that, as I was clipping more bolts and I cringed with every spray of cold water from the runoff above. A 5.3 free move? I said to the wall. Yeah right. Soggy climbers don’t do free moves. I looped a sling over the outcropping of the little step and was able to get the next bolt. At the beginning of the next pitch I leaned on my haul bag, ate my sandwich, and felt very tired. To the right of the second bolt was a loose looking crack that my number 1 popped out of. I took a small fall with my rope underneath my butt, catching me in a funny way. I felt annoyed about falling, annoyed about feeling tired, annoyed looking at the nub of a rivet above me that didn’t have a nut on it. I fingered it out of the wall so it would stick out a little more (maybe next time I bring a couple extra nuts? What size are they usually?) Then it rained freezing cold rain on me during the awkward traversing sections that would be so easy if I had a real belay or a dry rope or a grigri that was on my side and I felt really annoyed. (But not too annoyed to appreciate how fun that handcrack would be to free climb:)) I set myself up on the Peanut Ledge and felt very grateful to sit, cook soup, and get warm and dry. I listened to “To Live is To Fly” by Townes Van Zandt on repeat. It felt fitting:

The choice is yours to make

Time is yours to take

Some dive into the sea 

Some toil upon the stone

Well, to live’s to fly

All low and high

So shake the dust off of your wings

And sleep out of your eyes

Day 6- p13-15 I had already decided I was going to sleep on top of the mountain that night, and it took all the urgency out of my morning. I listened to music, drank coffee, and was already wishing it wasn’t going to be over soon. The sun salutes the higher part of the wall earlier and I stood on Peanut Ledge in my underwear and greeted the warmth with arms outstretched. I had imagined this next pitch, the wide pitch, many times and I felt excited. I bumped the number 5 cams, breathing carefully, not letting myself think about the fall. With every step up on my late friend Tiff’s number 5 I felt lighter. For months I had wanted to bring her spirit and her cam on an adventure with me. (She said goodbye to this world before she got her chance to climb El Cap) When all my early fall climbing plans fell through and then the weather turned bad, I thought I wouldn’t be able to do this. Bringing thé 5 along had become a part of my process and I was beyond grateful for this opportunity. The wide crack turned into a scary crumbly little roof traverse that led to a sloping ledge. At that ledge I checked my phone. I had gotten a text from Eric with news about a friend, who had also committed suicide. I told him I’d call him when I topped out. I skipped lunch, feeling impatient for the top, but the last two pitches didn’t go as fast as I thought (funny traversing, cool hooks to bypass a ripped out copperhead) and I was hauling in the dark before I knew it. On the last haul, my bag got stuck and the sheath of my 2:1 hauling cord rubbed on the slab and exploded. I slumped on the anchor, snacked gummies and listened to Tennessee Jed, letting the familiarity of Jerry’s voice and the distinctive guitar twangs help me calm down. One more rap down into the dark. I was swallowed. And then I jugged back up, hoping with all my tired hopes that I could get my bags up and over the lip by myself. And thanks to the magic of mechanical advantages, I did. I made it! I made my bed on a little dirt patch close by that might have been the trail. It was cold. I called Eric. I never know what to say. I read my book and watched the stars. Every night since I got on that wall I had watched the Orion constellation march across the sky. It became my way of telling time-if I should bother going back to sleep or if I should give up and start moving. And the most special discovery–down and right from Orion, without fail, a formation of 5 stars appeared every night. It looked just like a turtle with a shining head. 

My sweet friend

I feel you 

Riding on rays of sunshine

Surfing on the ravens’ wings

An echo of my giggle up here on this rock

I’m blowing you turtle kisses

Day 7- navigating the East Ledges descent felt much less intimidating at the beginning of the day. And it was sunny and warm! I sat cross legged on an outcropping close to the Zodiac topout looking at the massive prow of El Capitan, holding my turtle so she could see too. I thought of my friends, brimming over with love. I held the irony of my cathartic climb loosely. You can scour the ground, the sky, and every rock in between but there are no answers. I felt intensely grateful for my life and this place. Life is so short and so precious. I leapfrogged my trusty bags down in two loads, getting closer and closer to the real ground. I met two nice guys who had just climbed Native Son who gave me a ride back to the camper. And then, heart full and hands aching, I said goodbye and thank you to Yosemite before turning towards home, deciding again that this is most definitely my favorite place in the world. 

Sunset on day 4 maybe. The controlled burn made a river of smoke. Thanks for reading :-)

Thanks for sharing such an honest account of your experience. Its a great portrait of why some of us climb.

Great read.  Thanks for that.

Tremendous report, thank you for sharing your experience with us. I'm sorry to hear about the friends you've lost, but glad you chose to continue on time and time again.

Very nice. Thanks.

Nice job. Great trip report. 

Very much enjoyed reading about your magnificent time on Zodiac. Thanks for sharing.  It's a damn good story.

Amazing account-  thank you so much for sharing

Great read!

I think I saw you up there just as I was leaving the valley. I feel jealous seeing how you had great weather in late season after shivering through storms up there just a few days earlier. 

Very inspiring, TFPU