Everything is going flawlessly. As Seb Berthe shouts encouragement, I execute the crux boulder of Wet Lycra Nightmare perfectly, clip the anchor, and lower back down to the belay. We pull the rope, and Seb leads the pitch, making it look effortless. As I join him at the anchor, our spirits are high. We’re going to the top! Before we can celebrate too much, though, Seb turns to me and says, “wait—let’s stay humble, eh? There’s still lots of hard climbing ahead.”

I should have stayed humble on the next pitch, when I found myself overgripping and fatigued, then falling, on what should have been an easy lead. I should have stayed humble the next weekend on Father Time, when—after sending the crux pitches—I found myself runout, unsure of where to go, and scared on lichen-ey, technical 5.12 terrain. I should have stayed humble on Golden Gate, when I fumbled a pocket and fell on a pitch I’d flashed the previous November, my only fall of the day. And I should have stayed humble after onsighting the crux pitch of the Pre-Muir, when the following pitch took me a solid half hour to even find the holds, much less figure out the moves.

Valley climbs are humbling. Success or failure on a route seems to hinge less on how well the crux pitch (on paper) goes and more on how smoothly I climb the so-called “easy” pitches, which can be dirty, runout, or just plain hard.

Spring quarter at Stanford—a block of around 10 weeks from early April to mid June—is always an awkward time for me. Coming straight out of winter quarter and only a week off for Spring Break, it’s a bit unsettling to be going over syllabi again just as the cold winter weather relaxes and Valley season kicks into full swing. This spring quarter, I made it my goal to focus on ground up, in-a-day objectives, a nice contrast from past Valley seasons spent projecting.

The first weekend was too wet to climb anything much (although my sister and I tried Leaning Tower but bailed off the second pitch because of wet rock), but the following two weekends went well: Westie Face, Wet Lycra Nightmare, Final Frontier (onsight!), and Father Time, all fairly seamlessly. Although I was happy with those weekends, I was kidding myself if I believed that those were my main objectives for the season.

Before this season, I’d freed three El Cap routes, all in 3-day pushes. I’d never even tried for an in-a-day free ascent, and it felt like a bit of a gap in my climbing resume. I knew that sooner or later I would have to work up the courage to give an attempt, and after those two productive weekends on Leaning Tower, Fifi Buttress, and Middle Cathedral, I suspected I was ready. The next two weekends had rainy forecasts, so I stayed home (which was just as well: on one of those weekends, I had a Friday evening midterm. What kind of professor assigns an in-person midterm outside of class from 5-7 pm on a Friday?). But the following weekend, I set my sights on Golden Gate. Back in November, I’d climbed the Heart Route, which shares all the upper pitches, which I’d flashed. But I’d never tried the Monster Offwidth or the Downclimb pitch, and I didn’t remember the upper pitches very well. As the weekend approached, I felt increasingly nervous. 

 On Thursday of that week, I had a midterm from 10:30-11:50 am. And by noon, I was on the road with my friend Benj Wollant in his van, talking strategy and timing for Golden Gate. At 4 am on Friday, we started up, cruising through Freeblast with what felt like no effort at all. The Monster Offwidth was tiring, as expected, but relatively drama-free, and flashing the Downclimb pitch less than six hours after starting the route set our spirits high. Unfortunately, the sun soon came around, and the hotter-than-usual temperatures started to take their toll. My forearms felt twice as heavy and full of cement, and it seemed I was climbing in slow motion. I took two attempts on the Move pitch, and the Tower to the People felt like an oven. Thankfully, there was a slight breeze for the Golden Desert and A5 pitches, and we still topped out in a respectable 14 hours with no other falls or mishaps. I was beyond psyched to have realized a major life goal of free climbing El Cap in a day, but as we hiked down the East Ledges I was already thinking about potential partners for El Corazon the next weekend.

Every previous ascensionist I’d talked to and every online blog I’d read had advised that El Corazon was a massive step up from Golden Gate. Considering that I’d never seen any of the pitches between Mammoth Ledge and Tower to the People, I was a bit intimidated. But I knew that I’d had margin on Golden Gate, and with cooler weather in the forecast the next weekend, plus the extra fitness from Golden Gate, I figured I might as well go for it. After some scheduling negotiations, it ended up being a Sunday objective (which scared me, considering I had class on Monday and a 24-hour epic wasn’t entirely impossible). After a lap up Voyager on Saturday, I started up Freeblast around 4 am on Sunday morning with Michael Vail. I felt a bit shaky, but we made quick time up to Mammoth Ledge, where Mike rappelled down the Heart Lines and I met Chris Deuto, who was supporting me for the rest of the ascent. 

Mammoth felt like the true start of the route, and I couldn’t have had a much worse start. Sam Stroh had warned me that the first pitch off Mammoth (supposedly 5.10) traverses farther left than expected, but after traversing what felt like enough, I spotted a seam with copperheads and began making my way up to it. The footholds quickly disappeared, and soon enough I was pulling 5.12 moves over rusty fixed aid gear. It didn’t occur to me that I was off route until I’d climbed a hundred feet up that seam and I could see the anchor I was supposed to stop at, down and in the next corner system to the left. After carefully downclimbing that seam, I made my way to the actual anchor on actual 5.10 moves.  

If that’s how the day started, though, it couldn’t have gone better after that. Three pitches higher, Chris and I arrived at Beak Flake (13b), the first crux of the route. I surprised myself by onsighting that beautiful pitch with relatively little drama except for a brief moment of crossing up my feet in the upper crux. A pitch higher, the route traverses straight leftward in what the guidebook describes as “loose, scary 5.11” into a 5.12d pitch protected on fixed beaks. Thankfully, those pitches went well, and Chris cleaned them incredibly quickly and efficiently. 

Soon enough, we arrived in the massive corner system, and we were once again cruising. Each pitch felt easier than the last, and pretty quickly we’d sent the Coffee Corner (13a) and only had one 13b pitch, the legendary roof traverse, guarding Tower to the People. As I racked up, a thought crossed my mind: I’ve never had a no-falls free ascent of El Cap before. If I can do this pitch, I’ve got a good chance at doing it today.   

Predictably, that pressure was exactly what I didn’t need. Between my new internal pressure and fatigue from the day, I climbed shakily and poorly, but scrappily fought through the crux. A few moves later, I was hanging on a jug, and thought to myself, fuck it. I can bathang here. And that’s exactly what I did. The redpoint crux proved to be tricky; after climbing forward then hesitating and backtracking, then repeating this several times, I finally committed, and a few minutes later I was on Tower to the People! I hauled the pack, Chris followed the pitch, and we took a break on Tower to have some food and for Chris to give his dad a birthday call.

At this point, I felt serious pressure. I climbed the rest of these pitches last weekend with ease. If I fall on them now, that would be an embarrassing way to ruin my first no-falls El Cap free ascent.

The climbing was by no means “over”: the next two pitches were rated 13a, followed by an annoyingly hard 12a, and I was far more fatigued than the previous weekend. Seb’s warning rang through my head: stay humble. It’s not over yet. But each pitch went smoother than the last, and a few hours later Chris and I topped out, 14.5 hours after starting, and it was a no-falls day!

We met Sam on top, who congratulated us and jokingly said, “so, Pre-Muir next weekend, huh?” I laughed it off, but less than a week later I was driving back to the Valley with exactly that in mind.

It was Memorial Day Weekend, and I had no school on Monday. Given the extra weekend day, I decided to go for a 3-day push rather than a single day. This time, I was with my dad, ready for some classic El Cap father-son bonding. We arrived late Friday night, pre-hauled the bag to Mammoth at 11PM, and got to bed late. The next morning, we “slept in” by El Cap standards and began climbing around 7 am, heading up the Muirblast. With no bag to haul, we were efficient and casual. The “8a Traverse” pitch felt in control, and we arrived at Mammoth fresh and with high spirits. I felt a tinge of regret for not attempting to flash Muirblast into El Corazon; I’d now flashed every pitch in that link-up, but I reminded myself that flashing El Cap takes a lot more than just doing every pitch first try.

The middle six pitches—including the classic “Silverfish Corner” (13b)—of the Muir Wall are shared with Triple Direct, which I’d tried (and failed) to free climb six years ago. It was certainly satisfying when, six years later, those pitches felt far easier and calmer. We entered the upper dihedral as evening fell, and at each belay the conversation went something like:

“Nice work. Should we set up the portaledge and bivy here?”
“Nah, let’s do one more pitch. Why not?”

And so we ended up climbing the first 24 pitches on that first day, sleeping right below the crux stemming corner. The following morning, I woke up sore and intimidated by the pitch above: a blank 90º corner with a thin seam in the back for some tiny cams. I’d heard stories of previous ascensionists tearing massive flappers in their palms from the intense stemming. For my first attempt, I figured I’d just work out the beta and tick every hold for a better second go. As I started up, I realized that there was no beta to work out. Each foot placement was a perfect smear, and there were no holds for palm placements. So I kept climbing, fiddling in #0 Z4s as I went. 

Within 20 feet, my calves started to burn, but there was nowhere to rest. There was nothing to do except continue upwards, bumping one hand or foot at a time as my calves shook more and more under the tension. At the top of the corner, there are a few face crimps: I grabbed them, cut my feet, and started kicking my legs in an effort to de-pump my calves. A few moves higher, there was a near no-hands rest, where I stayed for upwards of 10 minutes. Above here, a 13a layback section guards the anchor. Unlike the bottom stemming portion, the layback was highly sequential. I wasn’t sure if I’d have the energy to do the stemming corner again. Calves screaming and forearms cramping from the flash pump, I entered that section as if the entire free ascent hinged on it. It felt limit, but a few short minutes later I was clipping the anchor, marking one of the hardest gear pitches I’ve onsighted! It took me a solid hour to recover from that effort, and it left me extra fatigued for the following pitch, a 13a traverse. 

That following pitch took several attempts, but from here on out the climbing started to go more smoothly. Remembering Seb’s words, I didn’t relax yet, as there was still another crux pitch to come. By evening, we were below the final 13c corner, just 2 pitches below the top. I felt completely destroyed and knew that my best chance at sending the pitch involved almost aiding up the first time, ticking every single hold and rehearsing each move and placement multiple times. That strategy paid off when I sent the pitch on my second go and we topped out just as darkness fell.

LOOKING BACK

By the numbers, this was the best season of climbing I’ve had while in school: three free ascents of El Cap in three consecutive weekends, plus four 5.13 multipitches in two consecutive weekends for a season total of 173 pitches (over 200 if you count the weekend after finals), and my grades in school didn’t even suffer for it. More importantly than these ticks, though, I learned to move smoothly on Valley granite, a skill which has always felt fleeting at best for me. I can feel the difference from a full season of trusting tiny feet and continuing upward despite the insecurity, of climbing with full confidence in my gear, and of pushing the fall potential to the back of my mind. When I’m at my best on Valley granite, I feel a sort of internal balance. I’m confidently moving upwards, trusting my instinct and avoiding hesitation. At the same time, though, I’m giving each pitch the respect it deserves. No 5.9 or 5.10 pitch is going to feel trivial, even on a route with 5.13 on it. Next season, I’ll have to re-learn that balance, starting from square one as if this spring season never happened. But while it lasted, it felt damn good to feel connected with Valley granite. 

This season would have not been possible without extensive support from the various partners I climbed with. Tom, Seb, Claire, Benj, Mike, Chris, and Dad, I owe you each a full-on support mission. Maybe this fall quarter?