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Brunosafari
Boulder climber
OR
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Topic Author's Original Post - Oct 5, 2011 - 07:48pm PT
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This day, 1980, Tobin fell during his solo attempt on the North Face of Mt. Alberta. We miss him still.
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the kid
Trad climber
fayetteville, wv
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LEGEND..
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Tripod? Swellguy? Halfwit? Smegma?
Trad climber
Wanker Stately Mansion, Placerville
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I can't imagine anyone having not read it, but if for some odd reason you havn't The Green Arch is a brilliant, classic John Long story about the "legend"
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Levy
Big Wall climber
So Cal
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I have grown up hearing all kinds of stories about him. I regret that I never got to meet him.
31 years goneby
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TGT
Social climber
So Cal
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Seems like a week, or a month ago.
Not like 31 years.
What would he be spewing here with the rest of the geezers?
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TGT
Social climber
So Cal
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And a lot more important /lasting things than climbing.
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bvb
Social climber
flagstaff arizona
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Only climbed with him once. Much respect.
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Largo
Sport climber
The Big Wide Open Face
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THE GREEN ARCH
We came from nowhere towns like Upland, Cucamonga, Ontario, and Montclair. None of us had done anything more distinguished than chase down a fly ball or spend a couple of nights in juvenile hall, but we saw rock climbing as a means to change all that forever.
Lonely Challenge, The White Spider, Straight Up - we'd read them all, could recite entire passages by heart. It is impossible to imagine a group more fired up by the romance and glory of the climbing game than our little band, later known informally as "The Stonemasters." There was just one minor problem: There were no genuine mountains in Southern California. But there were plenty of rocks. Good ones, too.
Every Saturday morning during the spring of 1972, about a dozen of us would jump into a medley of the finest junkers $200 could buy and blast for the little alpine hamlet of ldyllwild, home of Tahquitz Rock. The last twenty-six miles to ldyllwild is a twisting road, steep and perilous in spots. More than one exhausted Volkswagen bus or wheezing old Rambler got pushed a little too hard, blew up, and was abandoned, the plates stripped off and the driver, laden with rope and pack, thumbing on toward Mecca. We had to get to a certain greasy spoon by eight o'clock, when our little group would meet, discuss an itinerary, wolf down some food, and storm off to the crags.
The air was charged because we were on a roll, our faith and gusto growing with each new climb we bagged. The talk within the climbing community was that we were crazy, or liars, or both; and this sat well with us. We were loudmouthed eighteen-year-old punks, and proud of it.
Tahquitz was one of America's hot climbing spots, with a pageant of pivotal ascents reaching back to when technical climbing first came to the States. America's first 5.8 (The Mechanic's Route, 1938) and 5.9 (The Open Book, 1950) routes were bagged at Tahquitz, as was the notion and the deed of the "first free ascent," a route first done with aid but later climbed without it (The Piton Pooper, 5.7, circa 1946). John Mendenhall, Chuck Wilts, Mark Powell, Royal Robbins, Tom Frost, T.M. Herbert, Yvon Chouinard, Bob Kamps, Tom Higgins, and many others had all learned the ropes there.
The Stonemasters arrived on the scene just as the previous generation of local hard cores were being overtaken by house payments and squealing brats. They hated every one of us. We were all young, vain, and flat broke, and cared nothing for their endorsement.
We'd grappled up many of their tougher climbs not with grace, but with gumption and fire, and the limelight was panning our way. The old guard was baffled that we of so little talent and experience should get so far. When it became common knowledge that we were taking a bead on the hallowed Valhalla (one of the first 5.11 routes in America) - often tried, but as yet unrepeated - they showed their teeth.
If we so much as dreamed of climbing Valhalla, we'd have to wake up and apologize. The gauntlet was thus thrown down: if they wouldn't hand over the standard, we'd rip it from their hands. When, after another month, we all had climbed Valhalla, some of us several times, the old boys were stunned and saw themselves elbowed out of the opera house by kids who could merely scream. And none could scream louder than Tobin Sorenson, the most conspicuous madman ever to lace up Varappes.
Climbing had never seen the likes of Tobin, and probably never will again. He had the body of a welterweight, a lick of sandy brown hair and the faraway gaze of the born maniac. Yet he lived with all the precocity and innocence of a child. He would never cuss or show the slightest hostility, and around girls he was so shy he'd flush and stammer. But out on the sharp end of the rope he was a consummate fiend.
Over the previous summer he'd logged an unprecedented string of gigantic falls that should have ended his career, and his life, ten times over. Yet he shook each fall off and clawed straight back onto the route for another go, and usually got it. He became a world-class climber very quickly because anyone that well formed and savagely motivated gains the top in no time - if he doesn't kill himself first. And yet when we started bagging new climbs and first free ascents, Tobin continued to
defy the gods with his electrifying whippers. The exploits of his short life deserve a book. Two books.
One Saturday morning, five or six of us hunkered down in the little restaurant in Idyllwild. Tahquitz was our oyster. We'd pried it open with a piton and for months had gorged at will; but the fare was running thin. Since we had ticked off one after another of the remaining new routes, our options had dwindled to only the most grim or preposterous.
During the previous week, Ricky Accomazzo had scoped out the Green Arch, an elegant arc on Tahquitz's southern shoulder. When Ricky mentioned he thought there was an outside chance that this pearl of an aid climb might go free, Tobin looked like the Hound of the Baskervilles had just heard the word "bone," and we had to lash him to the booth so we could finish our oatmeal.
Since the Green Arch was Ricky's idea, he got the first go at it. Tobin balked, so we tied him off to a stunted pine and Ricky started up. After fifty feet of dicey wall climbing, he gained the arch, which soared above for another eighty feet before curving right and disappearing in a field of big knobs and pockets. If we could only get to those knobs, the remaining 300 feet would go easily and the Green Arch would fall.
But the lower comer and the arch above looked bleak. The crack in the back of the arch was too thin to accept even fingertips, and both sides of the comer were blank and marble-smooth. But by pasting half his rump on one side of the puny comer, and splaying his feet out on the opposite side, Ricky stuck to the rock - barely - both his arse and his boots steadily oozing off the steep, greasy wall. It was exhausting duty just staying put, and moving up was accomplished in a grueling, precarious sequence of quarter-inch moves. Amazingly, Ricky jackknifed about halfway up the arch before his calves pumped out. He lowered off a bunk piton and I took a shot.
After an hour of the hardest climbing I'd ever done, I reached a rest hold just below the point where the arch swept out right and melted into that field of knobs. Twenty feet to pay dirt. But those twenty feet didn't look promising. There were some sucker knobs just above the arch, but those ran out after about twenty-five feet and would leave a climber in the bleakest no man's land, with nowhere to go, no chance to climb back right onto the route, no chance to get any protection, and no chance to retreat. We'd have to stick to the arch.
Finally, I underclung about ten feet out the arch, whacked in a suspect knife-blade piton, clipped the rope in-and fell off. I lowered to the ground, slumped back, and didn't rise for ten minutes. I had weeping strawberries on both ass cheeks and my ankles were rubbery and tweaked from splaying them out on the far wall.
Tobin, unchained from the pine, tied into the lead rope and stormed up the comer like a man fleeing Satan on foot. He battled up to the rest hold, drew a few quick breaths, underclung out to that creaky, buckled, driven-straight-up-into-an-expanding-flake knife-blade, and immediately cranked himself over the arch and started heaving up the line of sucker knobs.
"No!" I screamed up. "Those knobs don't go anywhere!"
But it was too late.
Understand that Tobin was a born-again Christian, that he'd smuggled Bibles into Bulgaria risking twenty-five years on a Balkan rock pile, that he'd studied God at a fundamentalist university and none of this altered the indisputable fact that he was perfectly mad.
Out on the sharp end he not only ignored all consequences, but actually loathed them, doing all kinds of crazy, incomprehensible things to mock the fear and peril. (The following year, out at Joshua Tree, Tobin followed a difficult, overhanging crack with a rope noosed around his neck.)
Most horrifying was his disastrous capacity to simply charge at a climb pell-mell. On straightforward routes, no one was better. But when patience and cunning were required, no one was worse. Climbing, as it were, with blinders on, Tobin would sometimes claw his way into the most grievous jams. When he'd dead-end, with nowhere to go and looking at a Homeric peeler, the full impact of his folly would hit him like a wrecking ball. He would panic, wail, weep openly, and do the most ludicrous things. And sure enough, about twenty-five feet above the arch those sucker knobs ran out, and Tobin had nowhere to go.
To appreciate Tobin's quandary, understand that he was twenty five feet above the last piton, which meant he was looking at a fifty-foot fall, since a leader falls twice as far as he is above the last piece of protection. The belayer (the man tending the other end of the rope) cannot take in rope during a fall because it happens too fast. He can only secure the rope - lock it off. But the gravest news was that I knew the piton I'd bashed under the roof would not hold a fifty-foot whipper.
On really gigantic falls, the top piece often rips out, but the fall is broken sufficiently for a lower nut or piton to stop you. In Tobin's case, the next lower piece was some dozen feet below the top one, at the rest hold; so in fact, Tobin was looking at close to an eighty-footer - maybe
more, with rope stretch.
As Tobin wobbled far overhead, who should lumber up to our little group but his very father, a minister, a quiet, retiring, imperturbable gentleman who hacked and huffed from his long march up to the cliffside. After hearing so much about climbing from Tobin, he'd finally come to see his son in action. He couldn't have shown up at a worse time. It was like a page from a B-movie script: us cringing and digging in, waiting for the bomb to drop; the good pastor, wheezing through his moustaches, sweat soaked and confused, squinting up at the fruit of his loins; and Tobin, knees knocking like castanets, sobbing pitifully and looking to plunge off at any second.
There is always something you can do, even in the grimmest situation, if only you keep your nerve. But Tobin was gone, totally gone, so mastered by terror that he seemed willing to die to be rid of it. He glanced down. His face was a study. Suddenly he screamed,"Watch
me! I'm gonna jump."
We didn't immediately understand what he meant.
"Jump off?" Richard wanted to know.
"Yes!" Tobin wailed.
"NO!" we all screamed in unison.
"You can do it, son!" the pastor put in.
Pop was just trying to put a good face on it, God bless him, but his was the worst possible advice because there was no way Tobin could do it. Or anybody could do it. There were no holds. But inspired by his father's urging, Tobin reached out for those knobs so far to his right,
now lunging, now hopelessly pawing the air.
And then he was off. The top piton shot out and Tobin shot off into the grandest fall I've ever seen a climber take and walk away from - a spectacular, tumbling whistler. His arms flailed like a rag doll's and his scream could have frozen brandy. Luckily, the lower piton held and he finally jolted onto the rope, hanging upside down and moaning softly. We slowly lowered him off and he lay motionless on the ground and nobody moved or spoke or even breathed. You could have heard a pine needle hit the deck. Tobin was peppered with abrasions and had a lump the size of a pot roast over one eye. He lay dead still for a moment longer, then wobbled to his feet and shuddered like an old cur crawling from a creek.
"I'll get it next time," he grumbled.
"There ain't gonna be no next time," said Richard.
"Give the boy a chance," the pastor threw in, thumping Tobin on the back.
When a father can watch his son pitch eighty feet down a vertical cliff, and straightaway argue that we were shortchanging the boy by not letting him climb back up and have a second chance at an even longer whistler, we knew the man was cut from the same crazy cloth as his son, and that there was no reasoning with him. But the fall had taken the air out of the whole venture, and we were through for the day. The "next time" came four years later. In one of the greatest leads of that era, Ricky flashed the entire Green Arch on his first try. Tobin
and I followed.
Tobin would go on to solo the north face of the Matterhorn, the Walker Spur, and the Shroud on the Grandes Jorasses (all in jeans), would make the first alpine ascent of the Harlin Direct on the Eiger, the first ascent of the Super Couloir on the Dru, would repeat the hardest free climbs and big walls in Yosemite, and would sink his teeth into the Himalaya. He was almost certainly the world's greatest all around climber during the late 1970s. But nothing really changed: He always climbed as if time were too short for him, pumping all the disquietude, anxiety, and nervous waste of a normal year into each route.
I've seen a bit of the world since those early days at Tahquitz, have done my share of crazy things, and have seen humanity with all the bark on, primal and raw. But I've never since experienced the electricity of watching Tobin out there on the quick of the long plank, clawing for the promised land. He finally found it in 1980, attempting a solo winter ascent of Mt. Alberta's north face. His death was a tragedy, of course. Yet I sometimes wonder if God Himself could no longer bear the strain of watching Tobin wobbling and lunging way out there on the sharp end of the rope, and finally just drew him into the fold.
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Bldrjac
Ice climber
Boulder
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That's for the reminder. The winter we spent in Canada climbing and baking bread when it was too cold to climb was one of the finest memories I have of him.........that and the summer of '77.
What a unique guy and a great friend.
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Klimmer
Mountain climber
San Diego
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I sure would have liked to have met Tobin, talk with him, and climb with him.
Great climber. Sounds like he was a wonderful friend and very full of life. He loved GOD. The son of a preacher man.
He is inspirational, even now.
TFPU brunosafari
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Johnny K.
climber
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Always heard stories about Tobin,always been amazed.
Largo,thanks for posting that amazing post!
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ron gomez
Trad climber
fallbrook,ca
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Thanks for the story John, Tobin is a legend for sure to many of us. Jack how lucky you were to spend time with him.
Peace
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TGT
Social climber
So Cal
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One of these days I'm gonna finish what I started here.
My partner that I’d learned to climb with had quit and I’d bought his rack. I decided to take my chances on finding someone to climb with in the valley as the year before there had been plenty of climbers in camp four over Easter break. So, I loaded up my motorcycle and headed for the valley. I pulled in mid afternoon and found a site a ways back and as I shuttled my stuff from the parking lot to my spot I noticed this kid with a salad bowl haircut hanging around the rescue site. It took three or four trips to get everything out of the saddlebags and to my spot and I noticed that this kid was about as accepted as a pesky squirrel at the picnic table. A while later while I was setting up my lean-to tarp setup that passed for a tent he came shuffling over and struck up a conversation. He had the campsite next to mine. It turned out that he lived less than a mile from me. He was finishing up his trip and was leaving in a day or so. He hadn’t had all that successful a week. He’d climbed with a guide maybe once or twice in So Cal and had taken the bus or hitched a ride to the valley and had been trying to talk people into taking him up things all week. It sounded like he’d only gotten a couple of routes and some boldering in.
We didn’t climb as Tobin was leaving the next day. It drizzled that night and in the morning as he was getting ready to leave he insisted that I borrow his tent. Now as it turns out this was classic Tobin. Not only would he give you the shirt off his back, he’d give you someone else’s if it was available. Turns out it wasn’t his tent. The rest of my trip was moderately successful. I had some trouble finding partners but did find one reliable enough get up Royal Arches. I also had several that talked a good line in camp but suddenly remembered they had urgent business that they had forgotten when a pitch or two up something. If you weren’t part of the select crowd it was hit or miss finding good partners.
When I got back to town I went over to return the tent his mother met me at the front door and she was livid, that’s when I found out it wasn’t his tent. He’d borrowed it from a relative and he’d told his mother he was spending the week with one of his friends and had snuck off to join the camp four circus without his parents permission or knowledge. She thought he was spending the Easter week with a friend in town.
The next weekend I took him to Tahquitz and took him up Angels Fright. He was agitating to lead all the way up and I finally did let him lead the last pitch. I explained where the three variations went and that I’d done the Left , friction one and the easy ramp to the right and told him he ought to go right. He started out and the n said “what about straight up?” I answered that I’d never gone that way and the gear didn’t look all that good. So of course, that ‘s the way he went. Over the next few months we did most of the obligatory introductory climbs at Tahquitz with him doing more and more of the leading. A few incidents stand out. I decided we were ready for Whodunit. Tobin was hot to lead and took off on the first pitch, (for some reason I was under the impression that the crux was higher up). He sketched his way up going way right of the normal line. Still don’t know how he pulled that off! We came to an impasse at the chimney, (could have been running wet) and about then I spotted a fixed pin on the Swallow so we ended up finishing on that route.
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Fritz
Trad climber
Choss Creek, ID
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Largo & all: Thank you for your Tobin stories.
Sad that I never met the lad.
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strangeday
Trad climber
Brea ca.
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Thank you for that wonderful story Mr. Long. I'm sure his friends and family still miss him deeply, but I can tell from here, his legend continues to grow.
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johntp
Trad climber
socal
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Largo and others-
Thanks for the share on stories of Tobin. Like many others, it is a shame that inspired people with so much potential (not necessarily climbing related) leave this world too early. What is risk?
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Double D
climber
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Largo... truly one of your most brilliant pieces. Tobin was the real deal and a super nice guy to boot.
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Wen
climber
Jackson, WY
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The Green Arch is the best climbing story ever written! My son was almost named Tobin based on that story and the incredible personality behind it. I wish he was still around so all us nobody's could continue to read about his adventures.
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Peter Haan
Trad climber
San Francisco, CA
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I miss Tobin too. What a character and so cool!
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TYeary
Social climber
State of decay
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TY
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couchmaster
climber
pdx
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What a thread, thanks for the heroic poetic tale Largo. That story was world class when I'd first read it and it loses nothing in the retelling! Wow.
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mooser
Trad climber
seattle
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I met Tobin the same weekend I first met you, Bruce--The Friction King's wedding. I can't fathom that it's been 31 years. Wow!
Thanks for your remembrance post.
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PhilG
Trad climber
The Circuit, Tonasket WA
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John, thanks for posting that classic tale.
Brings back the smell of the trees at lunch rock, the sounds of the swifts flying around the Vampire, and the feel of that cool, solid rock.
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Flydude
Trad climber
Prather, CA
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Will always remember warm summer afternoon bouldering and theology discussions at SLO...Tobin hope to see you on the other side of the mountain some day.
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dee ee
Mountain climber
citizen of planet Earth
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I've posted this before but...
Too many memories after a lifetime at the crags, but here is a nice one.
Went climbing with a fellow named Mike Watt (friend from high school '75-'76) that I also used to jam with on Banjo. We both played "old timey" style. We were going to Idyllwild for the weekend and brought our Banjos along to mess around with at Humber Park. Come Sunday morning we were sitting on the tailgate banging out some hick numbers and over comes Tobin. We are playing "Old Joe Clark" or some such and Tob knows the words and starts singin' and dancin' and carryin' on. This went on for quite awhile until whoever he was climbing with dragged him off to hit the crags. We all packed up and headed off.
Just a moment in our lives. I climbed with him a couple of times but that is how I remember Tobin, dancin' and singin' in Humber on a sunny Sunday mornin'.
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G_Gnome
Trad climber
In the mountains... somewhere...
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We were all out in Joshua Tree on a freezing a$$ winter day. It must have been 15 or 20 degrees. We all have ALL of our down gear on and we are hiding from the wind on some ledge in the sun when Tobin comes by looking for someone to climb with. He is in shorts and no shirt!!! We asked him if he was cold and he said 'certainly' but that he was 'training!' for Canada. That might have been the last time I saw him as he left for Canada shortly after than and didn't make it back.
The scene was certainly less interesting without Tobin around. Except that Yabo showed up not too long after to spice things up again.
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john bald
climber
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May the spirit and memory of Tobin stay alive in all of us!
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Fat Dad
Trad climber
Los Angeles, CA
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I remember being a kid and reading a piece in Climbing that either Tobin or Bldrjck wrote about their first winter ascent of Kitchener's Grand Central Couloir. It got so cold during their partially hanging, open bivy that they would 'turn and cry at the pain in their fingers' or something like that. That line has stayed with me some 30 yrs. Remarkable individual(s) to climb that far out on the edge.
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bergbryce
Mountain climber
South Lake Tahoe, CA
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Wow, what a great story!
Thanks
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EdBannister
Mountain climber
13,000 feet
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Willie "belayed" Tobin on the Green Arch....
Willie reports that the cord, at the sharp end was tied.. not to the harness, but around the neck.
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eeyonkee
Trad climber
Golden, CO
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The most memorable climbs I ever did at Tahquitz - the Edge and the Green Arch (not that the Vampire's chopped liver), were both Tobin routes, and I was well aware of the history before embarking on these adventures. It's so fun having Tobin stories in our collective consciousness.
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Rick A
climber
Boulder, Colorado
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Oct 10, 2011 - 11:39pm PT
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Bruce-
I remember the call I got from a Canadian newspaper reporter. I didn't want to believe it, but I knew it had to be true.
Kevin-one of you from that day on Hyperion Arch
Bivy in the Alps.
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nutjob
Gym climber
Berkeley, CA
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Oct 18, 2011 - 07:34pm PT
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With no other climbing mentors or community when I was learning the ropes, the story of Tobin Sorenson and the Green Arch helped shape what I wanted to do and to be.
I still remember the first time I read it, cracking up and laughing out loud, mouth gape at the audacity of it all, making my buddies read and re-read sections, while sitting in the cab of a pickup truck at my campsite in Joshua Tree.
You really have a gift for sharing the passion, John. Thank you helping to set my feet firmly on the road that they always wanted to travel but didn't know how.
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Chief
climber
The NW edge of The Hudson Bay
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Oct 18, 2011 - 08:10pm PT
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Largo, I've been a big fan of your over the top writing style for a long time now and that piece is as good as it gets. While I never got to meet Tobin, he was very much on the radar from day one and his passing hit a lot of us who didn't know him personally pretty hard. His example continues to intrigue and inspire today and he earned a rightful place in the pantheon of climbing's deities.
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TGT
Social climber
So Cal
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Oct 18, 2011 - 10:06pm PT
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The kid I knew would be thoroughly embarrassed by and reject any notions of sainthood,
and more than a bit uncomfortable, (tinged with some understandable pride) with deification.
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Chief
climber
The NW edge of The Hudson Bay
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Oct 18, 2011 - 10:10pm PT
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I certainly didn't intend to portray Tobin a saint.
Yabo and John are up there in that same pantheon in my books.
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TGT
Social climber
So Cal
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Oct 18, 2011 - 10:11pm PT
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But a post (link) above you did.
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Bldrjac
Ice climber
Boulder
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Oct 18, 2011 - 10:20pm PT
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When Tobin led the Green Arch the rope was tied to his harness NOT around his neck.
That sort of story is just disrespectful to Tobin.
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Chief
climber
The NW edge of The Hudson Bay
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Oct 18, 2011 - 10:26pm PT
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TGT,
I'm looking hard at my previous post for the inference to sainthood and not seeing it.
Care to be more specific?
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TGT
Social climber
So Cal
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Oct 18, 2011 - 10:28pm PT
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I believe the noose story was about Damper, or some other J Tree climb he had wired and would have been about impossible to fall out of anyway.
Chief,
The link two posts above yours.
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Chief
climber
The NW edge of The Hudson Bay
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Oct 19, 2011 - 12:21am PT
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Thanks for the clarification TGT.
I wouldn't want to unfairly characterize someone I didn't know in person.
While I do hold Tobin's memory in the highest esteem, I have no illusions about his being like the rest of us and considerably less than a saint.
Most of my greatest heroes, living or passed, are or were pretty flawed individuals. Bill Monroe, Tony Rice, Dougal Haston and John Bachar come to mind.
Some Tobin stories that stand out among many;
Jugging the fixed line over the roof on the Shield to find it fixed to a knot pounded into the crack.
Jumping the gap from some pinnacle at Suicide unroped and throwing in a full twist in for good measure.
Climbing the Harlin Direct alpine style with Alex MacIntyre.
Smuggling bibles into eastern Europe.
And there's the Green Arch story.
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TYeary
Social climber
State of decay
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Oct 19, 2011 - 12:50am PT
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Tobin's brother 's name is Tim.
Or as he was known to some, Dibbs.
TY
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wild willy
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Oct 19, 2011 - 09:04am PT
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Only once in my climbing life did I experience the thrill of doing something really crazy. Tobin had just jumped across "Superfly" at Suicide Rock. He dared John Bacher, Dick Shockley and me try it. We relucently agreed to. I will never forget running then jumbing across the cravass and hoping Tobin could pull the robe in fast enough so I wouldn't fall to the bottom if I didn't stick to the face. I will never forget that day in the early 70's and think about it often.
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steve shea
climber
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Oct 19, 2011 - 09:58am PT
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I met Tobin in summer of 77' in Chamonix. I knew him only those brief three weeks or so. He left an indelible impression. I remember sitting in the Bar Nash right after our epic on the Dru ( with Jack and Mugs) with Rick and Tobin and telling them the tale. I really wanted those two to get the route,to keep it an American effort. They were successful and after, Cham seemed to clear out. There were not many ex pat US alpinists in town and those that were hung out. Tobin and I were partnerless so we camped together under the Midi pherique cables. Tobin had next to nothing for camping. I remember he would go off scavenging for this and that. He looked like a bag lady with his pack loaded high with his treasures. I remember he was particularly happy to find huge sheets of cardboard to sleep on, he had no pad. We climbed at the crag in town toward Les Houches and bouldered at the Col de Montets. The weather had turned bad so we were grounded for the most part. He was just off his Bulgarian trip and we had alot of time for philosophical discussions and climbing talk. We finally grew weary of Cham and decided to go for the Eiger. We hitched to Grindelwald. We set up camp at the meadows above the Alpiglen and were surprised to find a group of Polish climbers waiting for the Nordwand. Poland was still behind the Iron Curtain at the time and Tobin took delight in finding fertile ground for bible distribution. He was clearly honed from his time in Bulgaria and he set off to do his work. The Polish alpinists were polite and we all became fast friends under the Eiger. The weather was dreadful and showed no signs of improvement. To break the boredom we'd walk down to Grindelwald and check with the meteo which was always a fruitless task. Tobin however had the addtional motive of flirting with the beautiful young Swiss girl at the weather station and she enjoyed every minute of it. We took quite a few trips to the meteo. Finally one night in camp we had the Foehn. It was like a Rocky Mountain Chinook on steroids. It started without any warning except for noise and literally blew our camp apart. The next morning Tobin went out and retrieved gear. That is my last memory of him, still smiling, climbing trees to get underwear, ropes, tents whatever had blown away in the night. He had his helmet on with the arrow pointing to The Way.
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Bruce Nyberg
Trad climber
Sheridan, Wyoming
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Oct 19, 2011 - 02:17pm PT
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Arguably one of the worlds best climbers of the day. Without question, a great human being with an infectious smile. Bruce
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wild willy
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Oct 19, 2011 - 07:25pm PT
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Regarding Tobin's brother Dibbs: In the early 70's Paul Roehl and I picked him up while hitchhiking his way to J. Tree. We didn't know who he was at the time. We had a good laugh at the GIANT bong that was hanging from his backpack-so different from Tobin in this respect.
We took him climbing with us a few times after that. I seem to remember him not hanging around the "Stonemaster" group much. Maybe because he was no way near the level of these guys.
Don't know whatever became of him.
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G_Gnome
Trad climber
In the mountains... somewhere...
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Oct 19, 2011 - 09:45pm PT
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The noose trick was on The Waterchute on Intersection.
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Chief
climber
The NW edge of The Hudson Bay
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Oct 20, 2011 - 01:49am PT
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How about Tobin's on sight third class of Kachoong at Arapiles?!
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ionlyski
Trad climber
Kalispell, Montana
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Oct 24, 2011 - 11:07am PT
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How about Tobin's on sight third class of Kachoong at Arapiles?!
What???? Perry are you sure? Confusion with Wolfgang maybe?
That would've been particularly bold I think but perhaps I don't know.
Arne
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donini
Trad climber
Ouray, Colorado
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Oct 24, 2011 - 11:10am PT
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Kachoong looks impressive but the holds are big and it goes at about 11a, something Tobin could have done.
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ionlyski
Trad climber
Kalispell, Montana
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Oct 24, 2011 - 12:04pm PT
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I know the holds are big but the exposure there is incredible. My feet cut loose and I had trouble getting them locked back in. Ended up monkey barring the rest of the roof until I could reach the first good holds around top.
Wolfgang Gullick (spelling?) shocked the locals (I think) at the time when he looked down, smiled and reached into his chalkbag and calmly finished the route unroped. Tobin is well known for his unrepeated for years route he put up called Tjuringa but I never heard of him soloing Kachoong but maybe he did. I know I wouldn't!
Arne
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ionlyski
Trad climber
Kalispell, Montana
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Oct 24, 2011 - 12:25pm PT
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Anyway, here it is from my dusted off Arapiles guide. Tobin did Tjuringa at Australian grade 25, the hardest route there to date and then further amazed the locals with an on-sight solo of Kachoong. Yikes!
Arne
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AKDOG
Mountain climber
Anchorage, AK
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Oct 24, 2011 - 02:52pm PT
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I also heard Tobin had on-sight soloed Kachoong bare-foot no less! , and it became a rite of passage for all the visiting hard –men.
Great route and part of the legacy and legend of a great climber
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Chief
climber
The NW edge of The Hudson Bay
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Oct 24, 2011 - 02:56pm PT
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Jim,
Kachoong looks impressive, does have big holds and an on sight solo today would still be noteworthy in my books. Tobin's on sight solo of such an exposed 11a so far from home back in the mid seventies is more of the stuff of his legend.
Respect,
PB
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donini
Trad climber
Ouray, Colorado
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Oct 24, 2011 - 03:01pm PT
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Yep, still noteworthy, I was pointing out that for a guy like Tobin it wasn't unreasonable.
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dee ee
Mountain climber
citizen of planet Earth
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Oct 24, 2011 - 05:09pm PT
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Does anyone know where Tim is these days?
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Luca Signorelli
Mountain climber
Courmayeur (Vda) Italy
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@Largo:
Tobin would go on to solo the north face of the Matterhorn, the Walker Spur, and the Shroud on the Grandes Jorasses (all in jeans), would make the first alpine ascent of the Harlin Direct on the Eiger, the first ascent of the Super Couloir on the Dru
In the Alps Tobin did even more than that, because, as you may know, I've collected enough evidence (thanks to the details given by Gordon Smith, plus some third party info) to claim that Tobin and Gordon climbed on the North Face of the Grandes Jorasses a completely new route (Gordon called it "Scala di Seta" after Rossini's opera= parallel to the Desmaison-Gousseault, instead of just repeating the D-G as they originally planned and thought. I believe it may have been the hardest route on the GJ by that time (head to head with the D-G and the Friendship Direct on Pt. Whymper, but overall probably harder, as "Scala di Seta" was opened almost completely free). In any case, I think it was something even more remarkable than the alpine style ascent of the Harlin Route (longer, but the difficult section is shorter, and Eiger is far less remote than the GJ)
"Scala di Seta" is still unrepeated; it got "almost" a second ascent this autumn by non-local team, but they renounced because of the short meteo window. And luckily they did so, as the recent Jorasses tragedy happened just few days later.
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A5scott
Trad climber
Chicago
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Climber with amazing spirit. I loved reading largo's books with stories about Tobin. My nads shriveled up imagining the green arch fall. Talk about being gripped as an armchair mountaineer!
scott
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rich sims
Social climber
co
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Dave
Last I saw Tim was when we did Pan Am.
I have thrown his name out a couple of times and all I have heard was SF/Bay area??
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drljefe
climber
El Presidio San Augustin del Tucson
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Apr 14, 2012 - 10:15pm PT
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Great thread bump!
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Knave
Trad climber
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Apr 17, 2012 - 09:05pm PT
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Last time I saw Tim was in the middle eighties in the Sacramento area working as a tree climber/trimmer.
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ms55401
Trad climber
minneapolis, mn
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Apr 17, 2012 - 09:09pm PT
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this guy sounds really cool -- jeans on the North Faces? wow.
I head read about him before in JL's books. had more than a bit of bravado, but that's a virtue in my book.
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splitter
Trad climber
Hodad surfing the galactic plane
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Apr 17, 2012 - 10:38pm PT
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It would be great to here from Tim Sorenson here on SuperTopo! I would like to here about his and Tobins FFA of The Cobra .11a R, 9p! I recall chatting with them(Tim & Tobin)over at the lodge that same day/evening. A bold endeavor on both of their parts. Evidently its difficult to stop and place pro on the crux layback/under-cling.
"1643. The Cobra 5.11 R, 9p, more like 5.9 R and 5.11a barndoor - hard to stop to place blind cams." Reid/Meyers, 1987 - Blue cover Yosemite Climbs + 1972 Roper guide/green cover(compilation courtesy of Ed Hartouni & Clint Cummings).
If nowadays "it is difficult to stop and place blind cams", I wonder what it was like back then(mid-70's)with only a rack of hex's & stoppers to resort to. Harrowing to say the least...right up Tobins alley!
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johntp
Trad climber
socal
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Apr 17, 2012 - 11:55pm PT
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The Stone Masters did not get that title without reason. Then they took it to another level. Love the stories of the stone masters in the alps.
I never knew Tobin personally and never was close to his class as a climber, but through JL's writings feel I have some idea of the man.
Thanks JL and others for sharing the history.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Mar 31, 2013 - 12:00pm PT
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Tobin bump...
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Todd Eastman
climber
Bellingham, WA
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Mar 31, 2013 - 01:09pm PT
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Thread is resurrected on Easter!
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RedRiverGumby
Sport climber
Red River Gorge
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Jul 21, 2013 - 01:13pm PT
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Thank you all for these incredible stories about such an incredible man and climber. I've been searching books and the Internet for more stories about Tobin. I hope to climb with Tobin on the other side.
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TYeary
Social climber
State of decay
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Jul 22, 2013 - 01:35am PT
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I saw Tobin eat several Del Taco combo burritos, and still want more. Once we were over at the Lillygards( owners of the old Pack and Piton) for dinner and he ate everything in sight; Huge bowls of spaghetti with meatballs and bread, and then most a carton of Ice cream. Eventually we were asked to leave, but I know the real reason, it was the bottomless pit that was Tobin. He was a force of nature and actually a shy, kind, dude. RIP Tobin.
TY
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RedRiverGumby
Sport climber
Red River Gorge
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Jul 22, 2013 - 12:10pm PT
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Does anyone know where I could find more to read about Tobin and the other stonemasters? I've been so caught up in the sport climbing world, that I've never really taken time to learn more of the history of climbing. Now that I'm reading as much of John Longs stuff as i can find, reading stories of older guys with big nads like Tom Patey, and searching forums for great threads like this, I just can't seem to find enough. As a nineteen year old self obsessed and pretty sack less sport climber, my entire mindset of climbing is being changed by this stuff. If anyone has anything of recommendations to read about these guys and their incredible spirit of adventure, please let me know
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Bullwinkle
Boulder climber
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Jul 22, 2013 - 12:26pm PT
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The StoneMasters Book by John Long and Dean Fidelman, most excellent if I do say so myself. df
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guyman
Social climber
Moorpark, CA.
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Sep 19, 2013 - 12:08pm PT
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Tobin does indeed own the "Edge"
I miss that smile.
worthy bump
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Ottawa Doug
Social climber
Ottawa, Canada
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Sep 22, 2013 - 04:55pm PT
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That John Long story about Tobin taking the huge whipper on the Green Arch is one of the best told stories of all time. I always remember it from th book Climbing Anchors. Thanks for being such a great story teller.
Cheers,
Doug
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ms55401
Trad climber
minneapolis, mn
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Sep 22, 2013 - 05:06pm PT
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Sea of Dreams solo -- want to hear the story
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ß Î Ø T Ç H
Boulder climber
extraordinaire
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Feb 15, 2015 - 09:08pm PT
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bump
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 15, 2015 - 09:54pm PT
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Tobin Sorenson, Australia, 1979
Special thanks to Bushman
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 15, 2015 - 11:16pm PT
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Tobin Sorenson on "Ex Cathedra"(24), Castle Rock, Christchurch, NZ (1979)
Special thanks to Bushman
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 16, 2015 - 12:34am PT
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Will an Aussie hero emerge and identify the rock Sorenson's climbing?
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 16, 2015 - 02:07am PT
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Thanks a lot, NA_Kidlot,
That link could prove very useful.
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 16, 2015 - 01:47pm PT
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Tobin Sorenson, Australia, 1979.
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crunch
Social climber
CO
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Feb 16, 2015 - 02:48pm PT
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A "must read" for anyone who knew Tobin or interested in who he was: Rick Accomazzo's article on Tobin's crazy season in the Alps in the current (49) Alpinist.
Great article with some excellent (frightening!) photos, a lot of history, and incisive analysis, both of the man and of the era.
Tobin actually comes off sounding a bit like Layton Kor, That same drive to go upward, the uncanny strength and skill just when things are most dire (was this an intuitive ability to assess what's coming up or maybe sheer luck?), the same big grin and politeness.
Great stuff!
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 17, 2015 - 04:53am PT
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Tobin Sorenson, Australia, 1979.
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 18, 2015 - 01:51pm PT
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Tobin Sorenson, Australia, 1979.
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 22, 2015 - 07:04pm PT
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Special Thanks to Ed Hartouni
Australia (1979) Tobin Sorenson and John Allen
Mt Arapiles
The remarkable development of Australia's hardest area continues without respite. Again Kim Carrigan has been the dominant activist. He put up Australia's first two grade 27s when he freed the old aid problems Yesterday and Denim (pitch one) in quick succession. Both are sustained and extremely overhanging crack problems. Yesterday has not been repeated in its free state but visiting American climber Tobin Sorenson repeated Denim after a number of attempts and said it was 'hard' (American 5 .12). (He said that some, only, of Australia's 26s equal American 5.12 and all 27s would be 5.12 in the U.S.A.)
Carrigan freed the four-meter ceiling on Tiger Wall, Fox on a Hot Thin Roof, after five days and graded it 28. This grade did not last long, however, as Sorenson repeated it with relative ease and regarded it 27. John Allen (UK) led the third free ascent. A feature of the first free ascent of this climb was the pre-placing of some protection from aid.
Another of Carrigan's big efforts was his new climb on Bluff Major, Anxiety Neurosis (26) which basically follows an uncompleted bolt and rurp route. The first pitch is an extremely overhung traverse leading to a fearsome, undercut arete (26). It succumbed only after a number of days and many falls. The second pitch, up a blank arete, is little easier and also put Carrigan and his partner, Warwick Baird, to considerable trouble. Sorenson led the second ascent and Allen led the third ascent (first pitch only).
On Declaration Crag, Carrigan and Tony Dignam put up the face problem Look Sharp (23) with some pre-placed protection. Carrigan's first free ascent of Orestes (pitch one) (24) in The Atridae surprised most climbers because of the line's apparent looseness. However the line is one of the best at Arapiles and has already had a couple of repeats. This route received some attention from abseil prior to the first free ascent. In the same vicinity Kevin Lindorff and Dignam worked on the face left of Reunion to produce the rather bold Lois Lane (23) on which Peter Lindorff and Matt Dunstan followed. Dignam and Geoff Little did a similar route left of Frenzy - Iron Void (24). Below this, on the D Minor Pinnacle, Carrigan and Chris Peisker worked on the old aid problem The Philosopher (25) until it became a very thin free route. Lindorff and Geoff Little put up a minor new route, Fail Safe (25).
On the left side of Central Gully, Carrigan, Rod Young and John Smoothy climbed Cruel Canine (23) on the unpromising face right of Puppy Love.
The other side of Central Gully yielded a number of hard routes to Carrigan. Two of the best are Devoid (23), done with Tony Marion, and Vacancy (23), with Smoothy, on the wall right of Mari. Both were wire brushed prior to the ascent and require many small wires for protection.
Also in this general area Carrigan put up the 'nasty' Tres Hard (25) and an extremely overhanging crack problem. Dyslexia (25), with Peisker. Further right the same team found No Standing (24) on the steep face left of Stillborn and Carrigan led the brilliant face climb Morfyne (24) on which he was seconded bY Glenn Tempest, Louise Shepherd, Eddie Ozols and, rumour has it, Uncle Tom Cobbley!
On the Pharos there were two outstanding efforts: Kevin Lindorff led the very bold and sparsely protected Delirium Tremors (24) up the imposing southern face of the pinnacle, the first to get up this section of the wall, and Carrigan and Lindorff did the first free ascent of the dramatically exposed roof of Aftermath (25).
In the Pharos Gully there were more hard new climbs of mixed quality including Pattern Juggler (23) by Rod Young and K. Oaten, Snow Blind (23) by Coral Bowman and Peisker and Haphazard (23) by Carrigan, Dignam and Smoothy.
On Kitten Wall there were some major efforts. Carrigan finally freed Cat Cracker (26) after innumerable plummets from the hard boulder-problem crux and, with Mark Moorhead, put up the steep face climb Indoctrination (24) on which'Friends' are essential for some protection.
However the plum was undoubtedly Sorenson and Allen's beautiful and spectacular new route up the wall (23) and over the fifteen foot ceiling (25) right of Stranger's Eliminate. Tjuringa Wall, as they called it, was done in the best style and is one of the finest new routes at Mt. Arapiles in recent times.
In the Northern Group, Carrigan climbed a seam over the bulge right of Kachoong to give In Phase (24). Again 'Friends' were considered indispensible for protection. Sorenson's unroped on-sight solo of the ceiling route Kachoong Left Hand (22) really slackened local jaws. Another first was his similar solo of Christian Crack (2O). Finally, Allen and Sorenson, this time with the rope on, climbed a new ceiling which certain pundits considered unlikely' - Fiddler on the Roof (25).
Sorenson and Allen's most notable repeats not referred to above were the fourth and fifth ascents of the very strenuous testpiece Procol Harum (26) and the third and fourth ascents of Peisker's uncompleted (one pitch, only, so far) new route No Exit (26) in Central Gully.
The Grampians
Whilst Mt. Arapiles has had it all in quantity and difficulty, some of the best new routes have been done in the Grampians. The hardest is Life (24) on the face left of Decree Nisi at Black Ian's Rocks by Carrigan and Neil Parker (NZ). A bolt runner was placed by abseil. Also in the north, at Mt. Difficult, Rick White and Chris Baxter did Coup de Grace (21) one of the most overhanging crack climbs in the State, and an outstanding line. On Sundial Peak, Kevin Lindorff and Peter Jacobs climbed the 'elegant' Lion-Hearted (2O) 15ft right of Caucus Race.
In the South Jim Nelson and Dick Curtis climbed a prominent line on The Cheesecake at Mt. Abrupt - Shadow Road (2O). A point of aid used by the leader was eliminated by the second. Mick Law, Baxter and Mike Stone did the first climb on Ferret Hill - Tipsy (22), a beautiful corner and roof climb of two pitches. Nearby on The Promontory, another new outcrop, Hugh Foxcroft, Ed Neve and Nick Reeves did a sustained line which they called Restless (2O). Just to the north, on Mt. Fox, Baxter, Stone and Dave Gairns climbed the outstanding and unlikely wall between Foxfire and Leaner to give Twentieth Century Fox (2O) after first placing protection bolts.
Mt. Buffalo
Kevin Lindorff and Joe Friend reduced the aid on the She/Ozymandias Integral (22,M1) to one pendulum. This is one of the most spectacular routes on the north wall of the gorge. To the left of this Lindorff and Tempest did a remarkable almost free ascent of Lord of the Flies (23,M1) with only two aid points, to get off the ground, and four long pitches of 20 or harder.
Rest of Victoria
At Wilson's Promontory Tempest freed Cachalot (22), with Andrew Martin.
South Australia
Kim Carrigan recently visited Moonarie in the Flinders Ranges and, predictably, that area's number of hard routes underwent a quantum increase. One of the best was his first free ascent, with Louise Shepherd, of Robbing Hood (24) in the Great Wall area.
Other aid eliminations by Carrigan included Trojan (24), an overhanging crack and the removal of the single aid point from Medici (22). On the latter climb, a problem that has defeated a number of strong attempts, he was seconded by Shepherd and Tony Dignam. He put up one new climb, Self Destruct (24), which is said to involve a 3Oft ceiling, and did a new variant on Birdbrain (23). Dignam seconded the latter. Earlier, John Smart did the State's first grade 24 when he freed Grand Larceny on the same cliff; a proud roof 3OOft above the ground.
Elsewhere in South Australia Eddie Ozols put up Rubber Ducky (21) (for all you CB radio fans out there) on the sea cliff at Victor Harbour.
Oueensland
The chalk dust has fina!!y settled . after Tobin Sorenson's (U.S.A.) and John Allen's (U.K.) momentous visit. They raised grades in that State a couple of notches to bring them up to southern levels. Significantly Carrigan has already repeated all their hardest leads, confirming their difficulty with a dramatic series of plummets.
Allen and Sorenson's hardest route was Catcher in the Rye (27) on Frog Buttress which may be the most technical climbing in Australia but which required 'English tactics' to arrange the protection on both ascents to date. Sorenson took the lead from Allen to free a pair of aided climbs Barbwire Canoe (26) and Green Plastic Comb (26). These ascents have really impressed the locals. The former has scarcely no climbing below grade 22 in its 140ft. The latter is very strenuous and is protected by tiny wires. Sorenson took a series of dramatic, wire-snapping falls on both these demanding leads.
Elsewhere on Frog Buttress they put up The Guns of Navarone (24), a sought-after line right of Odin which incorporates one of this area's few ceilings. Tantrum (25) was an aid elimination with a boulder-problem start by the same pair whereas their Crack in the Pavement (23) was a new route.
Some Australians have also contributed to this cliff. Before he went to the U.S.A. Chris Peisker freed Worrying Heights (24), a sustained corner. Carrigan, seconded by Kevin Lindorff, got the only currently feasible aid elimination left by Sorenson and Allen (who had not had time to attempt it) - Voices in the Sky (26), and found a new climb Go- Between (23), seconded by 'barefoot boy' Fred From, which is something of a fiercely protected lead. Finally, a Oueenslander got in on the act when Robert Staszewski hit form and freed the strenuous finger crack of Carrion Comfort (25), which he wants to rename Forever Young, and found Delilah (23).
On Mt. Maroon, Sorenson and Allen freed the notorious Nympho Roof (24) which is a dangerously unprotected face leading to a hard undercling traverse. On a granite outcrop at Mt. Greville they did a rather obscure ceiling problem (24) which they doubt will be refound!
Correspondents: Baxter, Friend.
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Bushman
Social climber
Elk Grove, California
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As most of you know, Tobin Sorenson perished while attempting the first solo ascent of the North Face of Mount Alberta on this day October 5th, 1980, thirty five years ago today. I still think about him at some point during most days and every Sorenson family get together is both a memorial to and a celebration of his life, as it is with many of his climbing family here.
To say he packed a lifetime's worth of climbing into only ten years cannot even convey an iota of who the man was or what he did. His legacy lives on through all us who loved him, knew him, or ever took interest in his accomplishments. Thank you to all who have helped to keep his memory alive.
-Tim Sorenson
Still thinking about you, bro!
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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from page one, . . .:
Largo
Sport climber
The Big Wide Open Face
Oct 5, 2011 - 09:39pm PT
THE GREEN ARCH
We came from nowhere towns like Upland, Cucamonga, Ontario, and Montclair. None of us had done anything more distinguished than chase down a fly ball or spend a couple of nights in juvenile hall, but we saw rock climbing as a means to change all that forever.
Lonely Challenge, The White Spider, Straight Up - we'd read them all, could recite entire passages by heart. It is impossible to imagine a group more fired up by the romance and glory of the climbing game than our little band, later known informally as "The Stonemasters." There was just one minor problem: There were no genuine mountains in Southern California. But there were plenty of rocks. Good ones, too.
Every Saturday morning during the spring of 1972, about a dozen of us would jump into a medley of the finest junkers $200 could buy and blast for the little alpine hamlet of ldyllwild, home of Tahquitz Rock. The last twenty-six miles to ldyllwild is a twisting road, steep and perilous in spots. More than one exhausted Volkswagen bus or wheezing old Rambler got pushed a little too hard, blew up, and was abandoned, the plates stripped off and the driver, laden with rope and pack, thumbing on toward Mecca. We had to get to a certain greasy spoon by eight o'clock, when our little group would meet, discuss an itinerary, wolf down some food, and storm off to the crags.
The air was charged because we were on a roll, our faith and gusto growing with each new climb we bagged. The talk within the climbing community was that we were crazy, or liars, or both; and this sat well with us. We were loudmouthed eighteen-year-old punks, and proud of it.
Tahquitz was one of America's hot climbing spots, with a pageant of pivotal ascents reaching back to when technical climbing first came to the States. America's first 5.8 (The Mechanic's Route, 1938) and 5.9 (The Open Book, 1950) routes were bagged at Tahquitz, as was the notion and the deed of the "first free ascent," a route first done with aid but later climbed without it (The Piton Pooper, 5.7, circa 1946). John Mendenhall, Chuck Wilts, Mark Powell, Royal Robbins, Tom Frost, T.M. Herbert, Yvon Chouinard, Bob Kamps, Tom Higgins, and many others had all learned the ropes there.
The Stonemasters arrived on the scene just as the previous generation of local hard cores were being overtaken by house payments and squealing brats. They hated every one of us. We were all young, vain, and flat broke, and cared nothing for their endorsement.
We'd grappled up many of their tougher climbs not with grace, but with gumption and fire, and the limelight was panning our way. The old guard was baffled that we of so little talent and experience should get so far. When it became common knowledge that we were taking a bead on the hallowed Valhalla (one of the first 5.11 routes in America) - often tried, but as yet unrepeated - they showed their teeth.
If we so much as dreamed of climbing Valhalla, we'd have to wake up and apologize. The gauntlet was thus thrown down: if they wouldn't hand over the standard, we'd rip it from their hands. When, after another month, we all had climbed Valhalla, some of us several times, the old boys were stunned and saw themselves elbowed out of the opera house by kids who could merely scream. And none could scream louder than Tobin Sorenson, the most conspicuous madman ever to lace up Varappes.
Climbing had never seen the likes of Tobin, and probably never will again. He had the body of a welterweight, a lick of sandy brown hair and the faraway gaze of the born maniac. Yet he lived with all the precocity and innocence of a child. He would never cuss or show the slightest hostility, and around girls he was so shy he'd flush and stammer. But out on the sharp end of the rope he was a consummate fiend.
Over the previous summer he'd logged an unprecedented string of gigantic falls that should have ended his career, and his life, ten times over. Yet he shook each fall off and clawed straight back onto the route for another go, and usually got it. He became a world-class climber very quickly because anyone that well formed and savagely motivated gains the top in no time - if he doesn't kill himself first. And yet when we started bagging new climbs and first free ascents, Tobin continued to
defy the gods with his electrifying whippers. The exploits of his short life deserve a book. Two books.
One Saturday morning, five or six of us hunkered down in the little restaurant in Idyllwild. Tahquitz was our oyster. We'd pried it open with a piton and for months had gorged at will; but the fare was running thin. Since we had ticked off one after another of the remaining new routes, our options had dwindled to only the most grim or preposterous.
During the previous week, Ricky Accomazzo had scoped out the Green Arch, an elegant arc on Tahquitz's southern shoulder. When Ricky mentioned he thought there was an outside chance that this pearl of an aid climb might go free, Tobin looked like the Hound of the Baskervilles had just heard the word "bone," and we had to lash him to the booth so we could finish our oatmeal.
Since the Green Arch was Ricky's idea, he got the first go at it. Tobin balked, so we tied him off to a stunted pine and Ricky started up. After fifty feet of dicey wall climbing, he gained the arch, which soared above for another eighty feet before curving right and disappearing in a field of big knobs and pockets. If we could only get to those knobs, the remaining 300 feet would go easily and the Green Arch would fall.
But the lower comer and the arch above looked bleak. The crack in the back of the arch was too thin to accept even fingertips, and both sides of the comer were blank and marble-smooth. But by pasting half his rump on one side of the puny comer, and splaying his feet out on the opposite side, Ricky stuck to the rock - barely - both his arse and his boots steadily oozing off the steep, greasy wall. It was exhausting duty just staying put, and moving up was accomplished in a grueling, precarious sequence of quarter-inch moves. Amazingly, Ricky jackknifed about halfway up the arch before his calves pumped out. He lowered off a bunk piton and I took a shot.
After an hour of the hardest climbing I'd ever done, I reached a rest hold just below the point where the arch swept out right and melted into that field of knobs. Twenty feet to pay dirt. But those twenty feet didn't look promising. There were some sucker knobs just above the arch, but those ran out after about twenty-five feet and would leave a climber in the bleakest no man's land, with nowhere to go, no chance to climb back right onto the route, no chance to get any protection, and no chance to retreat. We'd have to stick to the arch.
Finally, I underclung about ten feet out the arch, whacked in a suspect knife-blade piton, clipped the rope in-and fell off. I lowered to the ground, slumped back, and didn't rise for ten minutes. I had weeping strawberries on both ass cheeks and my ankles were rubbery and tweaked from splaying them out on the far wall.
Tobin, unchained from the pine, tied into the lead rope and stormed up the comer like a man fleeing Satan on foot. He battled up to the rest hold, drew a few quick breaths, underclung out to that creaky, buckled, driven-straight-up-into-an-expanding-flake knife-blade, and immediately cranked himself over the arch and started heaving up the line of sucker knobs.
"No!" I screamed up. "Those knobs don't go anywhere!"
But it was too late.
Understand that Tobin was a born-again Christian, that he'd smuggled Bibles into Bulgaria risking twenty-five years on a Balkan rock pile, that he'd studied God at a fundamentalist university and none of this altered the indisputable fact that he was perfectly mad.
Out on the sharp end he not only ignored all consequences, but actually loathed them, doing all kinds of crazy, incomprehensible things to mock the fear and peril. (The following year, out at Joshua Tree, Tobin followed a difficult, overhanging crack with a rope noosed around his neck.)
Most horrifying was his disastrous capacity to simply charge at a climb pell-mell. On straightforward routes, no one was better. But when patience and cunning were required, no one was worse. Climbing, as it were, with blinders on, Tobin would sometimes claw his way into the most grievous jams. When he'd dead-end, with nowhere to go and looking at a Homeric peeler, the full impact of his folly would hit him like a wrecking ball. He would panic, wail, weep openly, and do the most ludicrous things. And sure enough, about twenty-five feet above the arch those sucker knobs ran out, and Tobin had nowhere to go.
To appreciate Tobin's quandary, understand that he was twenty five feet above the last piton, which meant he was looking at a fifty-foot fall, since a leader falls twice as far as he is above the last piece of protection. The belayer (the man tending the other end of the rope) cannot take in rope during a fall because it happens too fast. He can only secure the rope - lock it off. But the gravest news was that I knew the piton I'd bashed under the roof would not hold a fifty-foot whipper.
On really gigantic falls, the top piece often rips out, but the fall is broken sufficiently for a lower nut or piton to stop you. In Tobin's case, the next lower piece was some dozen feet below the top one, at the rest hold; so in fact, Tobin was looking at close to an eighty-footer - maybe
more, with rope stretch.
As Tobin wobbled far overhead, who should lumber up to our little group but his very father, a minister, a quiet, retiring, imperturbable gentleman who hacked and huffed from his long march up to the cliffside. After hearing so much about climbing from Tobin, he'd finally come to see his son in action. He couldn't have shown up at a worse time. It was like a page from a B-movie script: us cringing and digging in, waiting for the bomb to drop; the good pastor, wheezing through his moustaches, sweat soaked and confused, squinting up at the fruit of his loins; and Tobin, knees knocking like castanets, sobbing pitifully and looking to plunge off at any second.
There is always something you can do, even in the grimmest situation, if only you keep your nerve. But Tobin was gone, totally gone, so mastered by terror that he seemed willing to die to be rid of it. He glanced down. His face was a study. Suddenly he screamed,"Watch
me! I'm gonna jump."
We didn't immediately understand what he meant.
"Jump off?" Richard wanted to know.
"Yes!" Tobin wailed.
"NO!" we all screamed in unison.
"You can do it, son!" the pastor put in.
Pop was just trying to put a good face on it, God bless him, but his was the worst possible advice because there was no way Tobin could do it. Or anybody could do it. There were no holds. But inspired by his father's urging, Tobin reached out for those knobs so far to his right,
now lunging, now hopelessly pawing the air.
And then he was off. The top piton shot out and Tobin shot off into the grandest fall I've ever seen a climber take and walk away from - a spectacular, tumbling whistler. His arms flailed like a rag doll's and his scream could have frozen brandy. Luckily, the lower piton held and he finally jolted onto the rope, hanging upside down and moaning softly. We slowly lowered him off and he lay motionless on the ground and nobody moved or spoke or even breathed. You could have heard a pine needle hit the deck. Tobin was peppered with abrasions and had a lump the size of a pot roast over one eye. He lay dead still for a moment longer, then wobbled to his feet and shuddered like an old cur crawling from a creek.
"I'll get it next time," he grumbled.
"There ain't gonna be no next time," said Richard.
"Give the boy a chance," the pastor threw in, thumping Tobin on the back.
When a father can watch his son pitch eighty feet down a vertical cliff, and straightaway argue that we were shortchanging the boy by not letting him climb back up and have a second chance at an even longer whistler, we knew the man was cut from the same crazy cloth as his son, and that there was no reasoning with him. But the fall had taken the air out of the whole venture, and we were through for the day. The "next time" came four years later. In one of the greatest leads of that era, Ricky flashed the entire Green Arch on his first try. Tobin
and I followed.
Tobin would go on to solo the north face of the Matterhorn, the Walker Spur, and the Shroud on the Grandes Jorasses (all in jeans), would make the first alpine ascent of the Harlin Direct on the Eiger, the first ascent of the Super Couloir on the Dru, would repeat the hardest free climbs and big walls in Yosemite, and would sink his teeth into the Himalaya. He was almost certainly the world's greatest all around climber during the late 1970s. But nothing really changed: He always climbed as if time were too short for him, pumping all the disquietude, anxiety, and nervous waste of a normal year into each route.
I've seen a bit of the world since those early days at Tahquitz, have done my share of crazy things, and have seen humanity with all the bark on, primal and raw. But I've never since experienced the electricity of watching Tobin out there on the quick of the long plank, clawing for the promised land. He finally found it in 1980, attempting a solo winter ascent of Mt. Alberta's north face. His death was a tragedy, of course. Yet I sometimes wonder if God Himself could no longer bear the strain of watching Tobin wobbling and lunging way out there on the sharp end of the rope, and finally just drew him into the fold.
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Bump for Tobin's memory!
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 21, 2016 - 04:29pm PT
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Bumping for the clan & cause of what he meant
to those of us who saw in him what we wanted to become
Bumping for his youth and drive and for the stars in his eyes
A boy/man a child past the cusp of greatness,
We all wish he had survived that noble goal,
But alas, lost to the toil and the spindrift,
A silent Avalanche ?
We will never know
Tobin was and remains, to me, the greatest climber/hero
of that generation
that has been the mold for the finest and most bold way to go
Alone and up
Solo
As it has been said - it is hard to believe 35 yrs
Peace and healing prayers ... .
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mooser
Trad climber
seattle
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Jan 21, 2016 - 04:48pm PT
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Very nice tribute, Gnome.
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rmuir
Social climber
From the Time Before the Rocks Cooled.
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Jan 21, 2016 - 06:22pm PT
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^^^ Undoubtedly hanging with Yabo and Bachar…
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Bushman
Social climber
Elk Grove, California
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Jan 21, 2016 - 07:35pm PT
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Thanks for bumping his memory, Gnome.
No words, except to say
I'm so very, very grateful to Tobin and the Stonemasters
for mentoring so many of us and showing us a whole new world.
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Pocha
Social climber
Anaheim California
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Mar 16, 2016 - 02:36pm PT
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Had the pleasure of meeting Tobin Sorenson, he was my Sunday School teacher at Palcentia Nazarene Church in 1980. Great person, he would tell us about his climbs, the class was so excited to here he had proposed to his girl friend and he was going on his last big climb before tieing the knot. The following week I received a call form our pastor to inform me Tobin would not be back...at age 14 it was one of the most difficult things I ever had to deal with, I spoke at a service we had for him, It was a celebration of life for someone that truly had died doing what he loved.
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Poplar
Trad climber
Los Angeles
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Apr 21, 2016 - 12:45pm PT
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Through our great good fortune, in our youth our hearts were touched with fire. It was given to us to learn at the outset that life is a profound and passionate thing.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.
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brotherbbock
climber
Alta Loma, CA
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Apr 21, 2016 - 01:17pm PT
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Amazing story by Largo at the start of this thread.
My old man knew Tobin back when he used to climb out at J-tree in the 70's.
Tobin took him up the North overhang his first time.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Apr 21, 2016 - 03:10pm PT
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Thank you again to Brunosafari (where are you these days, Bruce?), and to all those who've been bumping and posting on the thread in honor of and in memory of Tobin.
These two old photos are from sometime in late August, 1980. Mom and our Grandma Wynne, along with youngest brother Tom, were driving Tobin up to Edmunton, Alberta for his counselor job at the Christian retreat there, and where he planned his fateful attempt on Mt. Alberta.
They came by the fire station where I worked in Nipomo near Santa Maria, California, and I was so stoked that he was there to visit me. Tobin was always respectful of his family like that. Little did we know that we were never again to embrace on this earth. In Tobin's words I have to say, "Fudge, this is hard!" I still choke back tears thinking about it after all these years. Mom took the photos with Tobin's Cannon 35mm. It was the last time all the Sorenson brothers were together.
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Dogtown.
Trad climber
Marshell islands atoll
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Apr 21, 2016 - 04:54pm PT
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John;
first of all thanks for signing my copy of your book (Stonemasters) my climbing career started out at T&S as many others have. I met all of you guys at one time or another at the Craig, all but Tobin. I have lead almost all of your routes there over the years including Green arch, late 70's and early 80's every weekend was spent there camping illegally a top Suicide and climbing all day. You guys and Darrell Hensel were for sure my heroes of the day. Wish I could of met Tobin, I must say some of the stories you have wrote about him have been more than entertaining.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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May 29, 2016 - 10:05am PT
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Tobin and his Acapulco Sunset on Intersection Rock
Of recollections dulled by living, and memories roughed by the drugged abuses of my youth, there are still some that work their way through the fog of time with near clarity, albeit a few minor inaccuracies, to recall once more here. Growing up with Tobin Sorenson was rarely dull and for most climbers and those afflicted by the adventure gene, there are many firsts along the way. Experimentation with disaster and mortality are the common thread of our experience. Though some considered Tobin as somewhat chaste and unworldly, this was not completely the case. He always had a gamblers heart and did partake of the herb, only once that I recall, at the behest of his friends before the bible and its work almost completely took hold of his life.
To my mind, Tobin never had a top rope from God, as this would bear out later on with his tragic accident on Mount Alberta. But his conviction, whether for climbing or for his faith in Christ, though he never made it his business to preach to me, was illustrated by his well known talent for commitment both on and off the rope, which was culminated by a short and momentously spectacular alpine climbing career. But this story is of a more innocent time, when the Stonemasters were in their formative beginnings, and soloing 5.11s and 5.12s at Joshua Tree was not yet de rigueur for the day.
It was circa early 1970s and there I was tagging along with my big brother, Tobin, and the Stonemasters again. We were eating and hanging at the site beneath the big boulder under the Blob, on the northwest end of the Hidden Valley loop at sunset. The usual communal meal had been donated to, and/or bummed and scarfed by the usual peanut butter and air-bread crowd, Tobin and I, Bullwinkle, et al. Pipe loads were being passed and new among the imbibers, the normally abstinent Tobin consented to a long and choking lung full of the Mexican bud du jour.
"I see green spots!" Tobin exclaimed after catching his breath. "Whoa, you better take it easy there, son," a seasoned member of the group cautioned. But Tobin announced to their chagrin that he was going to solo the North Overhang on Intersection rock and off he was like Dorothy exiting up the yellow brick road as if to find a wizard. I stepped out into the road and looked south towards the brooding slot at the top right corner of the formation already mostly in shadow, it's cap still bathed gold and red by the sunset as Tobin ran down the road towards it with just his sneakers and a chalk bag.
Worried friends started after him, one or two followed quick on his heels in the hope of dissuading him. "Let's solo Mike's Books and throw him a top rope!" someone yelled from the group. Free soloing easier routes were by then a common practice among the Stonemasters crowd, but in Tobin's altered state it was of some concern to me as well others in that instant and I followed along knowing that I could be of little help with my scant experience having only climbed roped on easier fifth class routes during that juncture.
5.9s were still out of my league and I had no idea that Tobin had probably soloed the North Overhang countless times at the end of many a hard day's climbing. By the time I got halfway to Intersection, Tobin was already up under the big overhang above the ledge at nearly a hundred feet above the ground, and reaching out left to the crack. I had only followed the easier traverse out right on a top rope before and I could not imagine that what he was doing was sound in his condition. I had never seen Tobin intoxicated except for the time when we were boys out to test a theory we had heard, and we got drunk by rapidly chugging large quantities of plain water. The intoxicating effect was minimal, but the after effect was not.
Up on Intersection, two or three other climbers were still working their way up to the ledge, and as I stood with a group from a distance staring up in silence, Tobin hung off the first jams moving his feet up the face on smears, and there he paused long enough for someone near me to say in a hushed voice, "C'mon Tobin." And then Tobin proceeded to smoothly climb up and left, he swiftly scrambled to the top, and he turned and faced the sunset in the fading light. As Tobin ran off east to descend Mike's Books, a climber with rope in tow was just making his way up from that direction, obviously too late to give Tobin any assistance. The climber continued over to the top of North Overhang, if for nothing but to offer a rope to the stragglers below. Back at where we were, Tobin ran up to us in the dwindling light and between deep breaths asked, "What's next?" and not waiting for an answer, he headed off towards another formation.
If this tale is off by more than a few characters or sentences, it might serve to bring some of Tobin's friends out of the woodwork and I would happily rewrite it again. For what is writing if not crossed eyes at midnight and a headache at four am, if it serves to bring to light a small truth, or a chuckle to the writer at the very least.
-Tim Sorenson
05/29/2016
Edit; Afterword;
It was several years since that day in Joshua Tree and a year or more after Tobin died before I climbed out under that overhang, and contemplated doing what he and so many others had done before. My climbing years were at their peak in the early '80s and I found myself soloing every so often, but only on crack climbs with good jams and face climbs with solid holds. On this particular day I had been soloing with a group of regulars in the afternoon around the campground. After soloing the Eye, Geronimo, and Double Cross, we headed over to Overhang Bypass on Intersection. It was at that point a few of us decided to take the North Overhang option. I had led it several times by then and the crux had become comfortable and easy to me with a rope. But here I was at dusk, on a day not unlike that day I first saw Tobin solo it.
As my friends disappeared above me, I looked forebodingly at the crux moves around that corner onto the open face and longed for the easy option out to the right again. But my ego got the best of me and I took the jam and pulled around left with my feet on friction. As I held myself in with one good jam, I trusted my feet long enough to reach for the next good jam, and I knew for certain in that moment that I would never climb like my brother. I felt safer again higher up, but would never solo the route again after that, nor any other where I felt so insecure or in such a predicament.
I never mentioned it to anyone that day, how I felt vulnerable, exposed, mortal, and I wasn't likely to. On other solos I did during those years of equal or more danger, I can only say, I must have just put the relative danger out of my mind. I may have only been soloing easy routes by the standards of the day, but hard 5.10 was almost my limit while climbing with a rope. I really had no business soloing some of the things I did.
I don't know how Tobin had the courage to pull off the things he did during his climbing career except to say, it was in his nature and his outlook. He put everything he had into climbing, as if it was expected. That was the major difference between him and me. I was only infatuated with climbing, but he was completely enraptured.
-TSS
05/29/2016
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bluering
Trad climber
Santa Clara, CA
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May 29, 2016 - 10:43am PT
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I wish I could have met Tobin. Seems like such a interesting dude.
Thanks for sharing, Tim!
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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May 29, 2016 - 11:38am PT
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Many great Tobin stories shared on this thread. Thanks to Bushman et al!
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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May 29, 2016 - 02:03pm PT
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A little desert polishing of the Tobin myth can't hurt.
This was neat and sweet, like a puff of Acapulco Gold, Tim.
Thanky!
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roy
Social climber
NZ -> SB,CA -> Zurich
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I was packing some old books into boxes and came across "Canterbury Rock" (1989) guidebook which I couldn't resist flicking through. I was climbing there in a late seventies and was surprised to find that Tobin was too. Judging by the many comments above I'm sorry not to have met him at the time.
Cheers, Roy
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eeyonkee
Trad climber
Golden, CO
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Right now, as I try to get in-touch with my 18-year-old self, I'm thinking that Tobin was the individual on this planet who I most wanted to be like (except for maybe the religious part).
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Bump for Tobin Sorenson
06/15/1955 - 10/05/1980
It was a recurring dream that started about a year after Tobin died and continued in one form or another for about twenty years. It usually started off like this;
Tobin suddenly is suddenly alive once again and has come back after he's been missing for many years. He tells me about his adventures. He has led a secret life all along, wife, kids, job, the whole shebang, all in a distant country and completely under the radar. He didn't really die in the accident and after disappearing, he quit climbing and became a salesman or some such thing.
The dreams were vague to remember as dreams go, but always the central theme was that somehow he escaped death, went incognito (which explained the disappearing act), and led a secret normal life (very un Tobin-like).
I always became miffed at him at some point during the dream, blaming him for leaving us all in the lurch. "How could he do this to us?" I always thought. "But I was there at the funeral!" I thought, puzzled. Soon the mind would reel at the absurd logic of it all and the dream would change, or I woke up, sometimes with tears in my eyes.
I don't think I've had the dream for ten or fifteen years now. Perhaps the subconscious mind finally began accepting reality, even though it happened half a lifetime ago. This dude was, after all, like an extension of myself for the first several years of my life. I remember his breath, his blue eyes, his brown hair, and his tanned skin so unlike my own pale freckled hide.
Forever ripped away by the harsh cold wind whipped sands of time, he will always be in my thoughts and I, along with my family and so many of his friends, still mourn his loss.
-Tim Sorenson
10/04/2016
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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I said shebang today before I read it here.
The way that Tobin's life unfolded and then passed into legend will always scare me.
I loved that young man all of you really,
The dreams and hopes of a generation of 'climbers for the rest of our lives' were carved by the rumors of his exploits.
Kids, playing on snow piles, made by plows pushing snow off the sides of gorges, that begat our mountains
We were Tobin
rock rats ,we scurried around looking for our own " Green Arch"
We were Tobin.
I've never forgotten that,
for why ? we Climb?
The answer for me has to be
For Tobin.
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Charlie D.
Trad climber
Western Slope, Tahoe Sierra
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Tim your heart felt words are so very much appreciated. We all get busy and fuss about with all the stuff in this world that has little value. Thanks for the reminder of how fortunate I am to have my brothers and for our loved ones gone how each sad thought is the cost of that love, you're a great brother.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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I wrote a short bio piece about Tobin and I, along with a brief account of the first free ascent of the Cobra back in the spring of 2014 titled 'The Last Time I Saw Tobin.'
After submitting the piece to Rock & Ice and Climbing magazine, a polite rejection followed, and so I submitted the story abroad where it was printed first in the UK, and then in Canada.
Previously, Mike Graham wrote a short piece that was published in 'The Stonemasters' book called 'The Last Time I saw Tobin Sorenson' (2010). I did not realize until after my piece had been published at a later date, the close similarity to the title of Mike's piece. This was not intentional, but possibly subliminal on my part. My sincere apologies to Mike Graham, John Long, and Dean Fidelman for any perceived infraction.
At any rate I have decided to post the piece on Supertopo at this time in honor of Tobin's memory on this day.
First Published in Climber Magazine UK, June 2014. 2nd Publishing Gripped Magazine, December/January 2016.
The Last Time I Saw Tobin
By Tim Sorenson
The last time I saw my brother was in September of 1980, about three weeks before he went to climb the north face of Mount Alberta in the Canadian Rockies. My mom, younger brother Tom, and grandma Wynne were driving him up to Edmonton, Alberta, and they came by the fire station in Nipomo California where I worked as a firefighter for the Department of Forestry. He was taking a job at a Christian youth retreat in Edmonton as a counselor, said he might need a climbing partner, and asked me if I wanted go to climb with him. As hard as it was to decline, he understood that I was trying to make a career in the fire service and couldn't leave my job at the drop of a hat to join him in his adventures. This is a story about some of my climbing experiences with, and the loss of, my brother Tobin Sorenson, one of the most energetic and iconic climbers of the 1970s.
Being the oldest child and two years my senior, Tobin was the closest to me of any family members I had in the early years, and we fought and wrestled like two wild bear cubs about everything. He showed me how to build models, fly model airplanes, ride a skateboard and a unicycle, and we attempted all manner of reckless stunts together. We tried almost every crazy idea we saw, and made the inventions and discoveries of our early youth together. Pyrotechnics, riding a sled off the roof, smoking coffee grounds, pounding pitons up the side of a conifer, or bolting the side of a concrete wall in a Southern California wash...you name it, we probably tried it. Where Tobin led, I would follow without question, and being less agile, less athletic, and less experienced, it was always me who ended up in the emergency room with the broken bones, burns, or gashes.
We had to be no more than 12 to 14 years old at the time when Tobin said we should go climb Mount Baden Powell, in the middle of winter. Mom and dad must've been really busy, because Tobin and I packed up our backpacks, called mom at her work and told her we would be back in three days, and hitchhiked across the LA freeways and up the Angeles Crest highway to the trailhead. We spent two days backpacking in the snow trying to make the peak, only to turn back because it was snowing again and the snow was up to our hips. We had no snowshoes and were breaking trail in spongy old mountain boots with freezing toes. Our winter camping gear being pretty miserable, we were lucky to get home with only frost nip and not hypothermia.
Later in high school, as our circle of friends grew, Tobin had his friends and I had mine. He being into sports, girls, and religion while I was still into comic books, drugs, rock 'n roll, and trouble, we grew apart. Tobin attempted to teach me about serious rock climbing and it was a hard slope. My first few attempts were met with injury or near calamity, and later, some fellow novice climbers and I endured a humiliating rescue on Tahquitz rock at the hands of Tobin and his hard-core climbing friends. Being stuck at night on a ledge several hundred feet above the ground, with only T-shirts in forty degree weather wasn't too smart. But I don't know which was worse, the terror of being keel-hauled up into the darkness, or the shame of being berated by my brother and his friends after being pulled to the top.
So after that, my brother told me that he didn't want me around him if I was going to embarrass him that way. It was not until a few more social indiscretions on my part that I finally did take my leave of him for awhile, much to his relief. With my tail between my legs, I went off to try and prove myself with other climbing friends and climbing adventures. While sustaining some injuries and surviving a few calamities along the way, I managed to improve my climbing to some degree, and was starting to get up some Yosemite climbs by the time Tobin came around asking me to go climbing with him again.
He really didn't ask...He would just say, "Hey, Tim, let's go climbing at this place by Riverside, there's a crack there I want to try," and it pretty much went like this... It was in a quarry, it was overhanging, it was loose, it needed a top rope, it hadn't been done before, Tobin led it, there was blood, I couldn't follow it without falling all over the place, and it was desperate." Later, sometime around 1975, I was hanging out and climbing in Yosemite valley when Tobin took me aside and said, "I noticed that you have been climbing really well lately," and he asked me if I wanted to try and do the first free ascent of 'the Cobra' with him. There have only been a handful of times in my life when I felt as proud as I did then. That was the effect he had on me, the influence he had over me, he could be so humble and self effacing, that follow him I would. But if he chided me, being his little brother, it cut like a knife, and I did not want to disappoint.
The Cobra was a Powell/Kamps route done in 1966. There were four or five pitches of run out 5.8 and 5.9 face climbing that started diagonally up and right across slabs from about pitch eight of the Royal Arches route, followed by four pitches of aid in a cobra shaped corner system that had never been free climbed. We made our approach and began climbing at first light with Tobin leading as we simul-climbed the first several pitches of the Royal Arches, then we swapped leads on the face climbing until we reached the Cobra cracks. I remember Tobin’s only comment as I grumbled about the fact that the bolts were pretty poor and very far apart up to that point. He just said, "So don't fall Tim." It was late morning, and the belay anchor at the start of the corner system was two opposing nuts along with an old piton pounded down into the top side of a flake.
As I was belaying him from a butt bag, Tobin led out above in the left of two corners. He had lay-backed for 40 feet up a shallow four-inch wide groove of a crack and was run out off a large hex, with no other protection on the pitch save for a couple of badly placed nuts near the top. I distinctly recall thinking to myself then, while looking down over the slab as it fell away above the huge arch and into the void, "If he falls now and these anchors pull out, were both doomed!" I jugged the pitch and from what I could see, it was at least 5.11. I took the next lead up a crack with better protection and then onto a greasy 5.10 arête, but the somewhat run out and steep face climbing left me exhausted. We took a short lunch break on a ledge as the afternoon was getting late. "There are rocks and sticks in the pack,” I exclaimed in disbelief while unpacking our food, and carefully stowed the surprise baggage against the back of the ledge. He never said a word, but I thought I saw him grinning at me, childlike, as he looked away.
Leading again, Tobin furiously jammed and lay-backed the long corner above and then set up a belay. He said it was 5.10, but we agreed I should Jumar it to save time because it was nearing sunset. On the last pitch, the corner hooked to the left and overhung to the top. It was the crux pitch, the Cobra's head. In the dwindling light, I kept the rope running as Tobin quickly lay-backed and under-clung the corner. Several feet above the belay as he held himself into the corner with one arm, he quickly placed some protection with the other hand. Farther out, he blindly stuffed a small hex or two up into the crack, and with feet swimming against the wall, he climbed out past the lip and out of my sight. Fifteen hundred feet above the valley floor, I cleaned and jumarred the mossy, lichen covered 5.11 pitch alone in the twilight, and joined him at the top, where we carefully scrambled our way down the descent in the dark, and caught the last shuttle bus from Curry Village to Camp 4.
I never thought about it until recently how Tobin led a first free ascent that day, of a grade IV 5.11, with no falls, with a far less experienced climbing partner, no siege tactics, no top ropes, no pre placed bolts, nothing, he just went for it. It just never occurred to me before what an amazing climber he actually was. You know how you can be so close to something you never really look at it, and then it's gone.
We saw each other infrequently over the next five years, Tobin was at college and I was still trying to figure out my career. I lived on the central coast and in Northern California and Tobin lived, well, all over the world. And when I saw him, I saw in him a man who lived in quiet desperation and joy, desperately in love with climbing and joyfully in love with his god.
The last time I saw Tobin, I would have followed him anywhere; but the constraints that act on most men acted on and grounded me. Three weeks later, on a fluke, I went to Southern California to visit my mom, and was there the day the police came and gave her the news that Tobin had fallen and been killed while soloing on Mount Alberta. I don't believe in religion, or luck, or providence, but for whatever reason circumstances warranted that I be there that day. I've been through some hard things in my life and losing my brother was bad enough, if I didn't have to see how it affected the rest of the family. But I had climbed for years and had worked as an emergency medical technician, I had seen death and loss, and knew what the risks were. So being a young man, I climbed on and off for many more years until work, family, and repeated injuries outweighed the risks involved with continuing climbing. Now, as I near my retirement years and reflect on those times growing up with, and climbing with Tobin some forty years in the past, it seems like almost yesterday, but the last time I saw Tobin was so very long ago.
03/04/2014
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couchmaster
climber
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Great read Tim, thanks for sharing it.
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Bruce Nyberg, the worst stonemaster
Trad climber
Santiago
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Jun 18, 2017 - 05:49pm PT
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Yo Dibs! I still remember Tobin often. A few years ago I sent Bullwinkle some photos of Tobin freeing the Vampire on Tahquitz with Gibb and Eric, through Robs Muir. Also on Insomnia crack later. I wish his story were told . An incredible soul. One of the best chapters of ,my life. Bruce Nyberg , the worst Stonemaster .
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rottingjohnny
Sport climber
Sands Motel , Las Vegas
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Jun 18, 2017 - 07:53pm PT
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Let's see those pics...
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guyman
Social climber
Moorpark, CA.
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Jun 19, 2017 - 08:50am PT
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Tobin bump.....
Good story Tim.
I also miss him, I often wonder how a grown up Tobin would be?
The kid lives on in all of us.
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dee ee
Mountain climber
Of THIS World (Planet Earth)
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Jun 23, 2017 - 09:38pm PT
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Tim, I still think that is one of the best pieces of climbing writing I have ever read.
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Kalimon
Social climber
Ridgway, CO
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Jun 23, 2017 - 11:06pm PT
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Tobin was blessed with some amazing eyes . . . just the tip of the iceberg for that fine lad.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jun 24, 2017 - 05:57am PT
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Bldrjac
Ice climber
Boulder
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Jun 25, 2017 - 08:09am PT
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Tim,
Funny, I've had a similar dream about Jack re-appearing. The first was about a year after he died. He suddenly was with me, wearing his mustard-yellow Mammut jacket, orange rope coiled over his shoulder. He told me when he fell off Bridalveil, he ended up falling into a rushing river, and was swept downstream. He was then picked up by Siberian herdsmen and taken to Siberia. Because he was in Siberia for the past year, he had no phone or internet access, and wasn't able to contact me or anyone else. I remember a mix of feelings. First, I was elated to see him, and words poured out of me, telling him of all that had transpired in the past year without him. I also felt a bit worried and uncomfortable. I said, "people are going to be angry with you....I mean, people were REALLY sad and upset that you'd died. They might now feel like you've been careless with their love, their emotions." I was also very nervous about telling him about all of his stuff that I'd gotten rid of in the past year, and about how I was now going to have to yet again re-orient my life now that he was back, and felt vague resentment that he'd gone, and then expected to come back as if nothing was wrong.
I've had different iterations of that dream since, although I guess not in a little bit. I wish I dreamt about him more........funny, how time is.
Thanks for sharing so much, Tim.
best,
Pam
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NorCalProf
climber
CA
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I’m a non-climber, but it is possible that I met some of you (friends of Tobin) many years ago. I hope you don’t mind me posting about my brief, but memorable, encounter with Tobin in 1976. It meant something to me and I hope it adds just a bit more to the appreciation of, by all accounts, an amazing climber and human being.
In 1976 I moved from Sacramento to Morro Bay to attend Cal Poly SLO on the G.I. Bill. Knew nobody, lived in a cottage in north MB and hitchhiked to campus once when my truck was broke. Some friendly guys picked me up one day and during the ride invited me to their house one evening to see a slide show of their El Cap climb. That night their little living room was full of people and they were all very stoked about the climb and the slideshow. I had never seen pictures anything like those before and was thrilled and captivated by the scary views from the wall. I think it might have been the 1975 first one-day Nose ascent, but that was lost on me at the time.
I was a living room guitar player then and one of the guys present, Tobin Sorenson, was playing a guitar, or maybe I had brought mine, don’t remember. Also, I only remember knowing his first name at the time, so I hope I have not made a colossal error of memory. I was impressed at his playing of "Blackbird" by the Beatles, and he offered to show me how to play it. He demonstrated the unfamiliar fingering to it so clearly that I learned quickly and have never stopped playing it the way he taught me. It is even very close to the way McCartney plays it in concert videos I have seen.
My memories of the other people present are hazy but there were mustaches, beards (not Tobin), long hair, names like Jim and John. I remember noting that nobody in this hippie-ish looking group was smoking pot. Will never forget the slide of a huge haul bag (looked to me like a military duffel bag) viewed from above on the wall, hanging by a rope out in space with the valley treetops way, way below. I had backpacked in the Sierra many times but that group of psyched and friendly climbers, and that slideshow, started me on a lifetime of fascination with Yosemite and rock climbing in general. (From my much later research I figured them to be some of the Stonemasters.)
And of course I will never forget Blackbird taught to me by Tobin, RIP. I still play it and think of him every time.
I wonder if anyone will confirm or correct my spotty memories, which I would appreciate. I think I had a life-affirming encounter with some amazing climbers but didn't know it at the time.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Thanks for chiming in and welcome to our world again.
Your recollections sound pretty accurate to me. Jim was Jim Bridwell and John was John Long but you have clearly sorted that out along the way. Add Billy Westbay in a dashiki and you have the Nose in a day team.
Getting together and showing slides of one adventure or another was the stuff of life for a lot of us when climbing was front and center in the mix.
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ionlyski
Trad climber
Kalispell, Montana
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This is cool history. Anybody else, that can add to this slide show night? Let's get the details out on this one; it would be cool to see how it connects together.
Seems like the NIAD event might not have had much in the way of photo opps, the emphasis being on speed and low visibility, until crashing the bar later that night. Werner? Largo?
Where was this party? Who's house and slide projector? Though a tad disappointing, I like the nod towards the "pot free" zone observed. It puts the focus on diligent, commitment to climbing, into perspective, that they were that good.
Werner, am I all full of sh#t? OK, happy 4th of July super taco.
arne
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NorCalProf
Social climber
CA
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I added a little more detail at the end of this reply. Thank you Steve Grossman and ionlyski for your acknowledgment. I worried that this story would sound too much “about me”, which I guess it partly is. I waited several days deciding whether to post it.
The part about Tobin is what I’m hoping to confirm. That is, that he at least, in fact, did play guitar. The name Tobin had definitely stuck and his last name must have turned up in my internet reading about Yosemite climbing many years later, and the pictures looked very, very familiar.
Though the name John was almost certainly in my original memory, the Jim name could have been triggered later as I “sorted out along the way” as stated by Steve G. Very possible, since I of course came across many references to those names and the Stonemasters. Recent neuroscience casts human memory in a less certain light than before, so I’m sort of on tiptoes with some of this. Plus I’m 68, so…there’s that!
The comment about pictures possibly not being taken during the speed climb made me think about the big haul bag picture I distinctly remember. Would such a thing have been part of that kind of ascent?
Approximate date of slideshow: January to April or so, 1976. It was a severe winter drought in CA and Morro Bay was a warm and sunny paradise compared to the Tule-fogged Sacramento valley I had just left behind.
Location: The house was in the neighborhood known as North Morro Bay, which is mostly small houses and vacation homes on a slope rising gently up from the ocean across Hwy 1. This was low down on the nearly flat land. I “think” the house faced south, on a street that ran up the hill perpendicular to Hwy 1. Don’t know why but I tend to recall little directional details like that. Drives my wife nuts sometimes.
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ionlyski
Trad climber
Kalispell, Montana
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NorCal,
It's OK you feel a part of it is about you. We all try to hang onto memories that connect us to our past, don't we? And if your past included a brush with Tobin, all the better.
Correct-the trio you speak of did not haul a bag and there are good descriptions I think from both John and Jim at least, of that climb. But there were lots of other climbs I'm sure, going on, that would have been cause for a slide show.
Someone here will add to your encounter no doubt.
Arne
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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I distinctly remember Tobin during his high school years practicing the guitar piece 'Classical Gas' all around our house, and to the wee hours of the morning, until he had it wired and then played it for us flawlessly one day. Oh yes, Tobin played guitar. More later...
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NorCalProf
Social climber
Nipomo CA
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Thanks Arne and Bushman. The kind responses have soothed my original anxiety about posting.
No haul bag on the NIAD climb makes sense. And if Tobin nailed Classical Gas he was definitely a player! Wow, that is so good to know. Blackbird would have been a piece of cake for him.
In a totally weird coincidence, I reconnected in person yesterday with a musician and climber friend at the Avila Beach Farmers Market, after 30+ years, and ended up relating this story to him. In an “Are you kidding me?” voice he related his 1975 (he thinks) experience climbing on Bishop Peak (the P route?), one of several volcanic peaks that line up from San Luis Obispo to Morro Rock. He was geared up with his novice girlfriend and a guy was free soloing around them. Tobin Sorenson. I didn’t have time to talk more about it with him since he had to get back to playing fiddle on a set with Cuesta Ridge, a local prog-bluegrass band. We’ll be in touch again soon though.
What a life this is. The older I get the better it gets, despite wearing the same body the whole time.
Steve
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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The Fisherman
Lowering down he would not swear
But wore his grimace silently
Pulling EB’s from his blistered feet
He wiped the sweat off of his brow
And tears away from sunburnt cheeks
I’ll get it next time he’d say
Bowing his head in a quiet prayer
Mumbling a psalm or favorite verse
His eyes lit up while he looked down
With a jubilance so unrehearsed
Years gone by and memories fade
But not so those of he and I
The blueness of two eyes like mine
Blood to blood and soulful sighs
I miss him still I would not lie
Do you know Christ the savior he
Was seldom ever heard to say
A message carried by his work
Firsts and far away pursuits
I still remember to this day
Friends who showed up from afar
Still wanting near though he was gone
Swapping stories of the fisherman
Held something of him in their hearts
But most a joyous young man’s song
-Tim Sorenson
03/02/2018
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Wonderful bit of poetic conjuring Tim.
Tobin was a very bright flame in American climbing for a long while and the loss is still keenly felt by those of us who had a sense of the deeper game that he was playing right to the last move...
Thanks for sharing your recollections of your brother again with us here.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Remembering Tobin again,
thirty eight years ago today
...today and every day.
-Tim
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donini
Trad climber
Ouray, Colorado
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Thanks for keeping his flame burning.
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Roots
Mountain climber
Redmond, Oregon
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So I might have told this story somewhere on ST but thought I would add it here:
When I was at Richard Harrison’s home buying up his kit about 5 years ago…..I was grabbing everything that was there from the 20th century. Richard seemed to enjoy me going through his milk crates and just tossing his gear into (2) piles; one to buy from him and the other to not buy. I was going crazy fast stacking it all up….my nephew and I were trying to get back out into the Las Vegas desert before dark so we could find our campsite.
With the gear sorted and a price agreed upon, my nephew and I headed out as the sun was setting. We were (2) happy dudes that evening seeing how we just scored a Stoners’ kit. We spent the rest of the night drinking beer and being stoked.
Later that week, when I got home I started going through everything. You know…looking hard at the treasure trove. That’s when I noticed “TS” raggedly engraved on the rigid stem of a Friend. “No f’n way!” my brain screamed. I called Richard immediately. Told him I was holding a cam that had “TS” marked on it.
He paused for a while. Then he asked something like ‘you sure it says TS?’ “F*#k yes” I blurted out. He laughed a little…he was already taken aback by my fan boy demeanor when I was buying his gear…now I was doing it with this cam and the thrill of possibly holding a piece of Tobin’s history.
He told me that it had to be Tobin’s as he climbed with him a lot.
A few years later an odd thing happened in Orange County at my place of work; a crew was out in the street pulling cable. I can’t remember if it was a phone cable, or an internet cable upgrade but they were out there for a couple of days.
Eventually, one of the workers made their way into our office building to pull it into our communications closet. The guy’s name was Michael. He was not a climber; looked like he worked hard and rested hard.
So I came around the corner and Michael was standing there with a coil of ½” white webbing. He said “you want this? We use it to pull cable and we’re done. It’s good for tying things in truck beds, etc”. I told him I’d love to have it. He handed it over and mentioned that a Water Knot would be a good way to attach the ends (to itself).
“Yep, I know about water knots”.
“You do? How about a figure eight?”
“Sure Michael, I’m a climber”
“No way!?”
“Do you know who Tobin Sorenson is?”
“Yes, famous Stone Master that passed away”.
“How do you know about him?”
“Well, coming up in Socal you know who the Stone Masters are and I collect vintage climbing gear. In fact, I think I have one of Tobin’s cams”.
“You do, I’m calling his brother right now”.
So he gets on the phone with the brother. They talk a while. Mention the cam. Hangs up and sees the bewildered look on my face and says “I am married to Tobin’s sister”.
We both acknowledged the odd, unusual, never-in-a-million-years chance that he and I would meet under these circumstances.
He didn’t tell me what brother said. He kind of just walked out of the building. He did come back later to give me another coil of the webbing. He looked at me and said, “Weird man…just weird. I gave his brother your phone number. I got to go get on the truck”.
Well, I kept it in Richard’s kit and another year went by and I started to realize that the version of the cam came out a couple of years after Tobin’s passing. So I posted a pic of the cam on ST or maybe I sent the pic to Stephane? Either way, Stephane confirmed that the cam was made after.
Doing more research, I noticed that the Sorensons’ first names all start with a “T” so I must have one of the brothers’ cams. -He probably went climbing with Richard after Tobin passed away to reminisce.
Another year went by and we hired a new customer service person. She was of Mexican heritage with the last name of Sorenson, so I couldn’t resist asking her if she was married to a “white guy”. She laughed and said yes. I told her about Tobin and mentioned that Sorenson was not that common of a last name. So I begged her to ask her husband if he knew of a Tobin in his family. He told her "no", but I still think that her husband is related…Small world?
RIP Stone Master
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Yes...a very nice story indeed.
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johntp
Trad climber
Little Rock and Loving It
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Cheers Tobin and happy birthday..
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Dec 20, 2018 - 08:00am PT
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`
[Click to View YouTube Video]
Just Showed up on my "recommended for you"
getting to the point
 I hope the hoe is sharp, ya know
don't bring to many hard tears,
When & where you go
some for sure - what a year
thinking of you and yours
MerryChristmas on this hard row
To add a smile I hope too:
"Might as well" put this here, but if'n you go Flame me for it
I'll return the favor with a more grateful share.
Puttin' On the Dog; skip straight to 3:00 minutes in
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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Tarbuster
climber
right here, right now
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May 16, 2019 - 10:28am PT
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Bump!
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micronut
Trad climber
Fresno/Clovis, ca
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May 16, 2019 - 04:33pm PT
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Fantastic thread. Just read Largo's Green Arch again and Root's story. Thanks for the bump.
Scott
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Klimmer2.0
Mountain climber
San Diego, CA
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May 18, 2019 - 05:17pm PT
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Brunosafari,
This is such a great ST thread. Thank you for posting it and getting it started. I remember reading your article back in 1980? when Tobin passed away and you published the memorial article in the climbing periodical. I remember you talking respectfully and inspirationally of his faith in that famous article. Powerful memorial. And then it got published again in Largo’s book on the history of the Stonemasters.
If it weren’t for you sharing personal stories about the Poway Mountain Boys, Mtn Woodson early History, and your close friendship with Tobin Sorenson, I would never have known all that history. It was great to know there was a connection and friendly competition between the Stonemasters and The Poway Mountain Boys, and Tobin was certainly that link between the two groups. I will cherish the stories and memories you shared.
It was also very incredible to find out we have a common friend whom we both know well ... George Tabler. He was your next door neighbor, and he was my close friend from our church youth group. I did manage to get George to go climbing with me up on Mt Woodson several times.
We should have met back then. Perhaps one day we will.
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