In July of '78 I tried to solo my route on Cerberus (didn't become Touchstone until the hammerless ascent May 2, 1981) by starting around 5:00pm after it went into the shade. I was relying on both a headlamp and the full moon to do a night ascent.
When I got to the top of the second pitch a porker park ranger named Mike who had already tooled me pulled up below and got on his PA.
"Come down here. I want to talk to you."
In a friendly tone I responded, "You come up here."
My friend Donna was watching and turned beet red, but whats he gonna do? Shoot me off the face?
He split and I was benighted on the third pitch. When I was about 5m from the belay two things happened almost at once. My headlamp (we used to joke that Wonder lights were so called because you always wonder if it was going to work) went on the fritz, and then the moon was obscured by a big cloud bank.
I finished the pitch largely by Braille and then descended left a few meters to a sloper where I sat for the night. I have since put a bolt there, but I spent the night slipping and creeping back.
By 1:00 am it was starting to get cold!
I ducked down inside my rugby shirt and wrapped the empty sleeves around my head to conserve body heat spending the next 4 hours like a stupid blind monkey.
At dawn I rapped and Donna helped me make good my escape from the dreaded porker (we would tangle again).
Maybe with a better headlamp you'd have more success than me.
Mike's gone.