Invitation to an Orgy

A few weeks ago, on UKC, I read a story by Katie Keeley titled “El Capitan: Wall of Dreams or Crowds and Chaos?” in which she attempted her lifelong dream route—The Nose. Like so many of us, Katie arrived in Yosemite as a starry-eyed pilgrim: eyes wide, heart racing, ready to touch (and maybe even climb) the wall of walls, El Capitan. For most climbers, that pilgrimage almost always means one route—The Nose—perhaps the most dreamed-about, most coveted rock-climbing tick on the planet. It’s not about the weight of the climbing, as it’s not that hard; it’s about the weight of history and legend. But if you want to be a true rock climber, you have to have climbed the Nose.

But, like countless pilgrims before her, she found the reality deeply disillusioning. The “shrine” was packed with other devotees on the same quest, all jostling for space on the same piece of rock, often climbing over each other to get to the summit, the climb also corrupted with piss and shit and noise and drama.

I’ve often found that climbers with a gentle poetic idea of big-wall climbing often come undone when they realise it’s not like that at all, not a rock ballet but like digging ditches under a burning sun on a chain gang.

In the end, Katie and her partners, after a night on Dolt Tower, bailed from El Cap Tower, their dream crushed by the all-too-familiar nightmare of “hell is other people”—an experience shared by so many who chase their big climbing dreams.

Personally, I’ve always had a thing about avoiding “classic climbs”, like I’ve always avoided TripAdvisor tourist traps, something I put down to living in London, where I developed that feeling you get when you find yourself in a crowd at Piccadilly Circus or Oxford Street—ill-mannered and jostling crowds, all in that place because that’s the place they’ve been told is the place to be (when really, it’s the last place you’d want to, unless you’re selling pizza slices at £1 a slice). I used to always be trying to escape down the side streets, which often were where you’d still find old London.

For me, climbing is about climbing, not queuing; about moving, not waiting. It’s shit to be stuck behind people. It’s shit to have people climbing up your arse. And so, I hate popular climbs, be they summer or winter, big or small. “Do you want to climb the Dent du Géant?” “Nah, I’ll just wait for the Boxing Day sales”. I just hate that horrible, competitive, panicky, claustrophobic bullying rush.

Plus, people are dangerous. They do dangerous things. They’re best avoided.

For example, it took me fourteen visits to Yosemite before I went to climb Snake Dike, as I always thought it would be a shit show—and it was. I’ve also never climbed Royal Arches for the same reason. It’s always better to go beyond the beaten track or down the proverbial side streets and climb one-star routes in peace rather than go through the turnstiles of a five-star classic.

I don’t claim to be an expert on much, but after nineteen trips to Yosemite, more than thirty ascents of El Cap (five of them on The Nose), and conversations with hundreds of parties over the years—most of whom ended up bailing in tears—I do know a thing or two about the gap between dream and reality on that wall. So here are a few thoughts on how to avoid Katie’s experience (or, when the crowds are unavoidable, how to roll with them) and still make your own pilgrimage to The Nose unforgettable and transcendent—the way it’s supposed to be.

Don’t come down

I’m sure you’ll have heard me say this before, but a friend of mine once went to climb the Nose, a dream route for him, and asked for my advice: “How can I guarantee I get to the top?” I told him that the key was simple: that each time he got to a tricky bit, or felt the urge or seeming necessity to go down, he should not—just keep going up, be that slow or fast. A few weeks later, I saw my friend, and crestfallen, he told me he’d bailed. “What happened?” I asked, sure my advice should have got him to the top. “We got to a hard bit. We came down.”

The crush

Have you ever run a marathon or 10k, or started the swim at a triathlon, and experienced that crush at the start, where everyone is jostling, bumping, and swimming over each other? If you’ve never experienced it, it’s enough to make most people just give up or drop out. It’s a horrible experience.

But if you can stay the course a little while—a few hundred metres, a mile—the pack will gradually spread out as people find their pace. The same is true of the Nose.

If you were to stand at the base of pitch one, or around the fixed ropes going up to Sickle Ledge, you’d imagine the route would be thronged from top to bottom. But if you were to stand at the tree at the top of the climb, you’d sit there all day reading a book, feeling like the climb was hardly popular at all, just one or two teams passing you by each day.

The reason for this is that almost everyone bails. I’d put that number at 70% for the ones who reach the base, or 99.99999% who just consider doing it but never do.

A pretty good percentage of climbers bail before they reach Sickle, due to both the crowds and all the faff and waiting around in the sun, and because the first pitches are the hardest on the route.

We’re told that the Nose is easy (relatively, 5.8 A1), but it’s not that easy, especially when you’re being rushed, the wind feels like it’s blowing at hurricane speed, you want to have a shit, or you’re not used to climbing on granite, or aiding, or jumaring, or hauling.

Sickle Mind

The climbers who reach Sickle Ledge might also get no further and end up just jugging up and pulling their ropes.

If I could condense this into one line, it would be: never voice raw negative thoughts or feelings, but keep them to yourself or filter them through humour. If you can’t do that, tears are allowed.

Always keep in mind the words of Warren Harding, who, when told “My God, Harding, you can’t do anything!” replied, “I know, but I can do it forever.”

[One reason women often shine on a wall is that they seem to naturally think less of themselves than men; by which I mean they’re less prone to self-delusion.]

Disco Stove Legs

At the Stovelegs you also encounter another reality: yes, the Stovelegs is the best 5.10 hand crack in the world, but even a 5.12 climber might find it too scary to free.

And so, if you can nail all the skills you need—and I mean nail them like you’re training to do hostage rescue or crew a racing yacht—you will have a considerable advantage over everyone else.

Once you’re at Dolt, you can begin to relax a little.

El Cap Tower of Power

Once you’re on El Cap Tower, I think you’re almost guaranteed to summit.

Further thoughts

One of the main reasons parties fail on The Nose is wildly unrealistic expectations.

Last Words

In the end, Katie went on to seek out more quiet climbs.

But, I suppose, if you’ve got your eyes on a classic in a popular spot with easy access—be that Cemetery Gates, Point Five, the 1938 route, or the South Col—if you must climb them to get the tick, to show off, to scratch the itch, then you just have to accept the experience will be what it will be: not intimate, not even that enjoyable, just doing it for the sake of getting it done, like accepting an invitation to an orgy.