FAILURE AND GROWTH, COURTESY OF EL CAP By David Gladish, climber and backcountry skier
Contemplating our position high up on El Cap. Photo by Dirk Rogstad.
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n the past several years, climbing El Capitan in Yosemite National Park has blown up in the mainstream consciousness. With Free Solo winning an Oscar and the Dawn Wall ascent getting publicized in the New York Times, it seems as if everyone has a clear picture of what climbing El Cap is like. It is easy to imagine being up on the side of the wall when you see it on a high definition movie theater screen. But is it as easy as people make it look? As a passionate rock climber based in the Northwest, I have worked my way up from bouldering, to sport climbing, and finally to traditional climbing. I cut my teeth on Cascade classics like the North Ridge of Stuart, Prusik Peak, Liberty Bell, and multi pitch routes at the Index Town Walls. With each climb, I felt like I was building up my climbing resume and was ready for a bigger challenge. The holy grail of rock climbing, particularly as it’s portrayed in climbing media, is El Capitan. I‘ve long had it in my head that I, too, would climb El Cap someday. I was so confident that the ascent was completed in my mind before even setting out.
The Salathe Wall In 2017 I met up with a friend from Utah to climb the Salathe Wall, a 35-pitch grade VI aid climb on El Cap. I had zero previous experience on a big wall, having led two pitches of aid, jugged a few lines, and never hauled a haul bag. As Ross had already successfully climbed El Cap, I was confident that under his leadership we would get up the route. I quickly realized that climbing a big wall is much different than climbing a standard multipitch climb. I was certainly capable; I managed to lead, jug, and haul, but I was so overwhelmed by 22
mountaineer | fall 2020
the compilation of new skills, the constant exposure, and the thought of being on the wall for several days without touching ground. It was too much for me, and we bailed after one night and 12 pitches. I might have chosen to see this as a good first effort and a positive learning experience, but instead I was crushed. I felt like a failure and was embarrassed that so many other climbers I knew had completed the climb when I bailed. I left the Valley determined to come back again.
The Nose In 2019 stars aligned, and I was back to Yosemite. This time I took my training more seriously. I spent time at the aid climbing practice area at The Mountaineers facility honing my aid climbing skills. Having a dedicated space to train such specific skills was a game changer for me. I completed a few classic aid lines at Index and slept in a portaledge for several nights. I once again began to experience the familiar feeling of “knowing” I could reach the summit of El Cap if I showed up to Yosemite; it was all but in the bag. We set our sights on The Nose. I had a new climbing partner, new strategies, and more experience. The plan was to spend three or four nights on the wall, depending on how fast we were climbing. Day one went smoothly. Our haul bags were too heavy, and we were tested with new maneuvers we’d never done on real rock, but we set up our portaledge feeling like we’d made good progress. As dusk came and we settled into our bivy, my anxiety began to build. It was easy to be distracted by tasks during the day, but alone in my sleeping bag, perched on the side of the cliff, it dawned on me how high we were off the ground. This was