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Zay
climber
Monterey, Ca
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Apr 22, 2019 - 01:18pm PT
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This is like waking up to a free and unexpected book on your night stand. A true public service.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 01:18pm PT
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Wonderful Tahquitz
The first time I climbed Tahquitz Rock was in the early spring of 1952. I told this to Robbins last fall and he doubted my honesty. I explained that I was up in Idyllwild with my college buddy to visit our girlfriends who were on a spring break outing. When we spotted that beautiful rock outcrop we just had to climb it. Neither of us knew anything about rock climbing. We just plowed through the snow straight up to the rock. Tried every which way until we finally worked all the way around to the south face and then finally up to the notch above the Friction Route and walked to the summit.
I didn't return to Tahquitz Rock until 1961 when my life on the rock began.
You may wonder what all this has to do with Tahquitz. Very little actually. It's just that I associate Tahquitz with all the good times we used to have at Tahquitz and Herbert came to mind. Hennek, Boche, McLean, Herbert - God we spent a lot of time there.
It's not like it was a short drive from LA. You had to really love Tahquitz to drive out to Idyllwild after work on a Friday evening, hike up to the base of the Green Arch, lay out your sleeping bag, sleep through the night, get up early so that you could climb the Arch, get back in your car and be home in time to watch the UCLA-USC football game.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 01:19pm PT
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Rowell Remembrances
I met Galen just like I met most climbers in Camp 4 in the 60s – we just sort of got to know one another around a campfire or at a campground table or in the Mountain Room. Ah, the Mountain Room!
One day in Camp 4, I think it was in the mid 60s, Galen came running up to me excitedly brandishing his new camera. He had made a decision. We both had just had articles published in Summit Magazine and I had expressed my admiration for his writing. He had found his destiny - he was going be a writer and a photographer. Eureka!
Although I never climbed with Galen, our paths crossed and re-crossed over the next 36 years. In the 70s I was in Berkeley for the annual America Alpine Dinner at the Claremont Hotel. Galen and I were chatting. I had just run in a marathon earlier in the year and Galen, who was also an avid runner, invited me to join him early the next morning for a run in the hills in back of the Claremont. We were up before dawn and ran his entire loop in the dark. It damn near killed me. Steep!
Later, in 1975, we were supposed to be on the same expedition to the Karakoram. Our group had applied for permission to do Nameless Tower, but the Brits had beat us to it. Galen had also received an invitation to join the K2 expedition, so he switched teams. Our group went on to climb whatever we could – but, not Nameless. Galen’s group had lots of problems and did not summit. Damn!
I left the LA area in 1981 and moved to Bishop, California. Galen opened his Mountain Light Gallery in Bishop in 2001. I helped him haul a huge and very heavy wooden cabinet into the gallery a week or so after the opening. When he decided to make Bishop his home and moved into his beautiful new house, I was invited over to check it out. Outrageous!
I was on a Salmon River trip with Guido and the Barker brothers, Glen and Rick, in August of 2002. After take-out, we heard about the plane crash in Bishop. We were devastated – Rick had named his son after Galen. Sad!
A year after Galen’s death, his son, Tony, asked if I could guide him up the Mountaineer’s Route on Mt. Whitney. He had failed in a winter attempt with his father and Tony needed to finish it. I was delighted to accompany him. You can find a photo (TR037) from our climb on his website: http://www.tonyrowell.com/online.gallery/idx03.shtml See it!
Later edit: Rick Barker named his son Galen, but not for Galen Rowell. I misconstrued his meaning.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 01:21pm PT
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Ropes
Here’s the way I remember it (but remember my age):
When I started rock climbing in the early 60s the standard length had just become 150 feet, usually 11mm Edelrid or Mammut perlon (there were no American companies making perlon-type ropes), taking over from the 120 foot white nylon or Goldline ropes.
In the mid 60s, Robbins came back from Europe sporting a new 50 meter perlon rope. He really liked it and thought it was the ideal length. Since I owned a mountaineering store at that time, I decided to start ordering 11mm perlon ropes in two lengths, 150 feet and 165 feet (50 meters).
Prior to that, no American retail outlet carried the 165 foot rope. The 165 foot or 50 meter rope very quickly became the preferred length and the standard length by the mid 70s, primarily because I talked Mike Sturm (the wholesale rep for German ropes) into making that length available in the U.S.
I left the mountaineering retail business in 1981 and lost track of the continuing evolution of climbing ropes. I still use 50 meter ropes for two reasons: weight and communication. I’m getting too old to haul around a 60 meter rope and I can’t hear either. I opt for 10.5mm 50 meter rope as ideal.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 01:22pm PT
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I have lots more, but I have to pause. I'll be back.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 01:25pm PT
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Spire Repair - An Explanation
On afternoon circa 1966, a young Jim Bridwell accompanied by a young, but already bald, Chris Fredericks came rushing up to me to announce he and Chris and others had just done a first ascent. It's only 5.7 (Yeah, sure. It's really 5.8) and it's an incredible climb. You gotta do it. We named it "The Braille Book".
Well, we sat down at a table broke out some beers and began chatting about life in general around the Valley. Jim said he was sick and tired of the incessant queries from tourists who would walk up to him and ask if he was a rock climber. This, while he was standing there with a huge hardware rack and two ropes draped over his shoulders. He and Chris were getting some tee shirts made up that stated plainly on front and back, "High Country Spire Repair Service". They hoped that this would eliminate any further inquiries.
I have used the label "Spire Repair Service" innumerable times since in formulating answers to the inevitable questions from the uninitiated tourist. I have chosen to use "Spire Repair" as the descriptor of my life in the climbing world.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 01:28pm PT
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Climbing with Harding
Although I got to know Warren very intimately in his old age, I did not climb with him in his prime.
However, I did attempt a first ascent with him in the late 60s or early 70s in Yosemite. Dennis Hennek, TM Herbert, and I were approached by Warren in his effort to attempt an unclimbed crack (god only knows where - somewhere near Sunnyside Bench).
It was a typical Harding choice. The crack was filled with eons of dirt (mud) and Warren insisted that we bring along gardening tools - really, gardening tools - to clean the crack as we climbed. Obviously the crack required aid climbing as it was impossible to get anything into the crack until the dirt (mud) was removed. As I remember it, Warren led the first pitch and made good use of the mattock he brought to clear the crack as clouds of dust and clumps of mud showered down upon us. Hennek and TM glanced at each other in disbelief and began muttering and questioning Warren's sanity.
Warren rappelled back to the ground and asked, "Who's next?' Neither TM nor Dennis moved and I anxiously grabbed the mattock and Jumared up to begin the second pitch. It was a messy job. The dust and mud fell into one's face and made inhaling an exercise in discriminatory breathing.
Warren had spent over an hour on the first pitch and I was no faster. I had to pause often to stick a finger in my mouth and down my throat to clear the accumulated mud. It was difficult to communicate with the ground because of the mud caked around my tongue. I reached, finally, the end of the rope and descended to the ground and the not-so-happy duo - Hennek and Herbert. "This is bullshit!“ Herbert exclaimed. "This is ridiculous! I'm not going up there."
"Neither am l, Warren", Dennis agreed.
Thus ended my only climb with Harding. We had not made the first ascent, but I had succeeded in impressing Warren with my Harding-like stick-to-it-tiveness and he adopted me as a life-long friend.
We spent many times together through the rest of his life and I managed to collect a few classic "Harding stories" - none very complimentary of Warren, but humorous none the less.
As far as his climbing "ability" goes, he seemed able to get up whatever he started. Isn't that why we climb?
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Apr 22, 2019 - 01:30pm PT
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Great stories - opportunities, time lost, triumph, tragedy and comedy...
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 01:30pm PT
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Don't Fall
When I started climbing I had a rule: Don’t fall. One of the guys I started climbing with, Tom Limp, said once, when I suggested going to Stoney Point with the Sierra Club to practice belaying, “I don’t see much sense in practicing dying.”
Never been much of a free soloist - the reason will become apparent as you continue this read.
I used to free solo a lot at Tahquitz – only on stuff that I had wired, and on nothing much harder than 5.7.
I was, and still am, not a very daring climber – I can recall only four falls in my entire 57 years of climbing (remember, I didn’t even start climbing until I was 29 years old, married with 3 children, and holding down three jobs). I never pushed a lead to the point where I was “willing” to risk a fall. If I didn’t feel I could make it, I backed off. Not really what you would call a “driven” climber.
It was only recently that I had a foot come off a smear on the crack pitch of South Crack in Tuolumne that sent my heart up into my throat. I didn’t fall, my fingers held, but I have since hesitated to lead that pitch even though I have led it innumerable times, often with absolute beginners belaying me.
The only time fear is a factor when I’m climbing is when I think falling is imminent. On many occasions I have “gone for it”. On those occasions I always succeeded. The four falls I took in the past were all surprises.
I was on the White Flake route in Tuolumne with Oriol Sole-Costa a few years ago. In my foolish, and dated, familiarity with the climb I led a runout about 45 feet up and left of Oriol looking for the bolt I remembered was out there somewhere. I was stymied. Unable to ascend and positive I could not descend. I must have stood there on old legs forcing myself to be calm and commanding my knees to chill for what seemed like 15 minutes. I’m sure it was less, but Oriol insists it was 15 minutes. During this distressingly long period, I kept trying to step out left to a small black fleck – just couldn’t force myself to commit. The bolt I had been looking for was now in sight, but far left and above my position. I finally stepped out onto the fleck.
I’m 86 now and not climbing. Too many years of treating my body with disrespect. The heart and the legs have finally surrendered to the abuse. From now on all I can do is talk and write about climbing. Much easier on my knees.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 01:33pm PT
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Kamps' Hobbit Boots
Yes, Kamps wore size 5 EEE Pivetta Cortinas.
TM always complained when on a Kamps route - about Kamps' stubby little feet and stubby little fingers, "No wonder he can stand on edges that small and get his stubby little fingers in these teensy weensy little cracks."
Bob Kamps, throughout the 60s & 70s wore Pivetta Cortinas (later called Muir Trails). He wore them because of his "little Hobbity feet" (that's the way TM described them). He required a size 5EEE and Pivetta was the only company putting out a significant selection of widths.
Super hard rubber rigid soles. Of course Bob loved edging. Smearing wasn't his forte then.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 01:43pm PT
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Joe Kelsey
I bought my first golden retriever puppy (with papers) from Joe in 1974 at the base of El Capitan where he was parading his dog and her brood - $50, a climber's special.
I am now on my third golden retriever and Joe is living (winters only) in Bishop just a mile from my home anticipating his acquisition of possibly his last golden. (I purchased my current golden 10 years ago, anticipating our mutual lifespans, she may outlive me). Joe and I and our dogs have scrambled around the local hills together on occasion. He even attends my Monday night football potluck get-togethers during the season and brings dessert.
We have recently (within the last few years) even climbed together, although recently I think we both have realized them days is gone forever.
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jogill
climber
Colorado
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Apr 22, 2019 - 01:54pm PT
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This thread is an excellent example of real climbing history that would probably not be suited for Wikipedia.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 01:59pm PT
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Third Ascent of the Leaning Tower – with Layton Kor
Layton Kor was probably the largest bundle of energy to ever climb a rock. Everyone is probably aware of his height – I wonder how many know how tightly wound he was. This guy was intense. Don’t get me wrong. His behavior off the rock was not abnormal – except when he was behind the wheel of his automobile.
It was early 1965. I was in my tenth year as an aerodynamic engineer at North American Aviation in El Segundo. My climbing experience was initiated in 1961 and was limited to Stoney Point, Tahquitz Rock, and three trips to Yosemite. My first and only Yosemite climb in 1962 was Higher Cathedral Spire. I returned to the Valley in 1963 for one weekend to climb the Higher Spire again.
In 1964, another Higher Spire ascent with Swan Slab and Patio PInnacle thrown in. That’s it – my entire Yosemite experience over a three year period amounted to five short ascents. Then I met Layton Kor and the curtain went up on my climbing career.
It was March of 1965, Layton was working at Chouinard’s tin shed in Burbank near the Lockheed aircraft plant. My Stoney Point climbing buddies, Dennis Hennek , and Ken Boche were both working for Yvon then and when I had time after work I would go by the tin shed by to visit and pound a few rivets in 1¼‐inch angles. Compared to the motley crew, I looked sort of out of place in my suit and tie, but on my first visit Layton was impressed with my work ethic. I don’t remember when or where it happened, but one day he asked if I was interested in doing a Yosemite wall climb. I didn’t even ask which wall, I just said yes.
The Leaning Tower ‐ he wanted to do the third ascent of the Leaning Tower. The first ascent in 1961 had just been followed by Robbins’ solo second ascent in 1963 and Layton had been quizzing Royal about the logistics. According to Royal there were still lots of bolts missing hangers and some bolts needing replacement. Other than that, he bade us well.
It was mid‐April. There was still six feet of snow on the ground in the Valley when Kor and I drove into the Bridalveil parking lot. With help of Ken Boche and a few other friends, we stomped in a path – a six‐foot deep trough – up to the Tower traverse ledge. It took us a couple of trips and most of the day to deposit our equipment. Kor and I spent that night in Camp‐4. I think we were the only tent in the campground. I had a large McKinley canvas tent – large enough for Kor to stand erect. We sat that night under a roaring Coleman lantern discussing Kor’s plan. He had a “plan.” I had no clue.
It was obviously going to be a cold ascent and we were only taking down jackets. We would use our rucksacks for our feet. Layton had borrowed two pairs of Jumars from somebody and he had shown me how they worked in the tent the night before. We would not take a stove‐ just cheese, bologna, gorp, and water. Kor was convinced we could use candles to warm our hands on the bivouac. That was his “plan.”
Up early the next morning, we trudged through the snow trough to our gear and began the traverse out to the beginning of the bolt ladder first pitch. The ledge was snowy, wet and slippery – and cold. There was no question as to who would lead the first pitch. Layton clipped into the first bolt and seconds later began what was to be a non‐stop, irate conversation with the Tower, with God,and with anyone else within earshot. I had never heard anyone curse as often and constantly while climbing. I heard curses that I
had never heard before or since – though I admit that one of his favorite rubbed off on me and I still hear myself using it – hopefully nobody else does. It is one that I can only repeat here as a reference to “matriarchal prostitution.” Every missing hanger, every loose bolt, every scraped knuckle, every dropped nut (those that hold the hanger on the bolt), and every time he didn’t get his foot quickly into the next loop, a curse would echo off the wall and down the Valley.
Layton climbed quickly and was up to the belay bolts – he was breathing hard when called down “Off belay.” I’m sure his respiration rate was due to more to his conversation than to his exertion. The Robbins Jumar hauling system was not in our repertoire, so we hauled our food and gear by the old fashioned way ‐ hand‐over‐hand.
My expertise with Jumaring was elementary at best and it took me longer to second the pitch than Layton took to lead it. When I finally arrived at his position he was already getting anxious and quickly put me on belay and urged me upward. About a third of the way up my pitch I clipped a bolt and in the process it came out in my hand. I thought, Whoa, now what? Layton was getting nervous, “Pound it back in, Lauria.” I tried, but it still just fell out when I tried to clip it. “It won’t go, Layton.”
Kor was reaching the red line on his patience meter. He had the extra bolts, but rather than send them up to me he suggested I come down and let him finish the pitch. With great relief, I descended and he took over the lead, replaced the bolt with a new one, and with minimal expletives raced on.
I cleaned the pitch and when I reached his belay stance, Kor suggested that for the sake of time he should lead the rest of the pitches – to Guano Ledge, I thought. He was off, epithets flowing eloquently, and after two pitches requiring several hanger/bolt modifications and some very tricky wet face‐climbing over the last ten feet, we arrived on snow covered Guano Ledge. Ahwahnee Ledge was out of the question ‐ It was two feet deep in snow. We attempted to level out the very sloped Guano Ledge by clearing
the upper portion and building up the lower portion of the ledge with the cleared snow. The temperature was in the 40s and everything was wet and it was getting dark – and did I say it was cold?
Never fear, we have candles. We settled down in our dampened down jackets with our feet in our rucksacks. Kor fought desperately with damp matches to light up three candles. With our 3‐candlepower heater ablaze we soon realized that whatever heat was being generated, we couldn’t feel it. The worthless matriarchal prostitutes!
It wasn’t all a lost cause – we did have a cozy candle lit dinner and Kor revealed his future plans to climb every major wall in the Valley before he left for Europe to do the Eiger. He talked a little about religion, only to abruptly change the subject to his “plan” for tomorrow. Layton quite reasonably thought it would be best for him to lead the rest of the climb. It was obvious that my inexperience was just slowing us down. So it was agreed – I was now auditing the course – and did I mention it was cold?
We still had seven pitches to go and Kor knew it. He almost left skid marks leaving the ledge in the morning. He was around the corner out of sight, but never, never out of earshot. “You damn [matriarchal prostitute]!” resounded from the canyon walls.
The most of the remaining pitches are just a blur in my memory probably because all I did was belay and clean. There were two exceptions ‐ The Evil Tree, where I learned even more new ways to cuss and the final pitch – the pitch where one traverses out from under the last overhang.
It was getting late. This was the sixth pitch. Kor finished it and, now out of sight, called down for me to be careful cleaning. He warned me about the difficulties of Jumaring and cleaning a traverse. Eventually I found myself up in a corner, with my head bumping an overhang, detaching my lead Jumar from the rope to bypass the next pin. With one aid sling on one side of the pin and the second aid sling on the other side, I began to understand the difficulties.
It was only after removing all but the last piece under the overhand that I had an epiphany. I realized that each time I detached the lead Jumar from the rope, I was supported by only one Jumar. Duh! But here comes the good part. I realized that if the Jumar (the ONLY one supporting me) came off the rope, I would plummet to the end of the rope – in those days, approximately 150 feet! Why, you ask? Read on.
This was my first wall climb and my first experience with Jumars. Nobody told me that I should attach them to my swami belt. I had just done the entire climb without ever being attached to my Jumars! The only thing attached to my Jumars when I released them from the climbing rope were my aid slings.
It was too dark and I was only a few feet below finishing the pitch, so I put the thought of my mind and continued on. I was too embarrassed to mention my folly to Layton. I wouldn’t have had time to anyway, as he was up and moving before I sat down. Over his shoulder came, “Come on we have to get down – now!”
So off we went on the wet rock as it began to drizzle. Layton knew approximately where we were going based on his discussion with Royal. I just tried to keep up. We managed to find the rappel anchors in the Leaning Tower Chimney and after three very wet and cold rappels we were on easier ground heading for the snow trough and the parking lot.
Two days later, at my home in Canoga Park, Kor was sitting at the breakfast table with me and my three kids and my wife relating to them the details of our little adventure. He kept rubbing his left eye nervously. I noticed that the eye was quite red. He thought there was just a little sand left over from the Tower, but hours later the irritation had become almost unbearable. So we took him to the closest ophthalmologist we could find. When he emerged from the doctor’s office his eye was patched. The doctor said he had found a sliver of steel near the center of his left eye’s lens (obviously chipped off a piton on the climb). If it had remained in the lens any longer it would no doubt have left a rust mark and Layton’s vision would have been impaired – requiring eventual surgery.
For at least a year after the Tower, I would receive a card or letter from Kor relating his latest climbs and his future plans – the last coming from Europe. It was over twenty years later that we met up again.
I attended the AAC annual Banquet in Las Vegas in December of ’86. At that banquet, as I entered the dining area, I bumped into Yvon Chouinard. We exchanged greetings and he mentioned that Layton Kor was in attendance.
“Where?”
“He’s hard to miss”, Chouinard motioned across the room.
I looked in the direction he was pointing and there in the distance,
standing well above the crowd, was a silver‐haired giant. By the time I got over to him he was seated at the dining table, his back to me. I tapped him on the shoulder hesitantly, fearing he would not recognize the idiot he led up the Tower in 1965. He turned, “Lauria, you rascal, how are you?”
I’m not sure I ever told Kor that I was never attached to my Jumars.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 02:02pm PT
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A Warm Summer Evening at Tahquitz
The mention of “mass assaults” zapped one of my abused brain cells and I remembered what, back in the old days (circa 1974), we called a mass assault. Another Tahquitz tale.
The Switchbacks is a 5.8 climb at Tahquitz that I had done at least seven times before Mark Powell suggested that I do the 5.7 variation of the first pitch. The pitch goes straight up to the belay ledge at the end of the first pitch of the regular route. The variation was(is?) protected by a ¼” Rawl bolt – about half way up the pitch.
I got so used to doing the variation that I often soloed it – trailing a rope so that I could rappel back down. The belay ledge at the end of the pitch used to have a small tree growing up from a crack at the back of the ledge. It was my rappel anchor. The tree had long since died, but I was able to jam it into the crack so that it remained a trustworthy anchor.
One wonderful warm summer evening after a warm wonderful day of climbing, a bunch of us gathered at Lunch Rock. Someone exposed two 4 liter jugs of wine and suggested that we might join him in a sip of wine. For what reason I’m not sure, I suggested that we imbibe on the Switchbacks belay ledge. Great idea! There were five of us. As I recall we were: Me, Dave Huntsman, Hooman Aprin, Conrad Willett, and Tom Limp.
Well, I led the pitch and began belaying the rest of the group. Did I mention that this ledge was small – so small that it could barely contain a group of five – something that never crossed our minds as began to occupy the ledge. The first person up brought the wine. While belaying the next two ascendants, the ledge occupiers, including the belayer, began imbibing.
By the time the last ascendant, Dave Huntsman, began his ascent, we on the ledge were feeling the effects of wine on a warm summer evening after a warm summer day’s worth of climbing. Tom Limp decided that Huntsman was climbing way too fast and with not enough respect for the difficulty of the pitch. So he poured a cupful of wine down the upper portion of the pitch. This slowed Huntsman for but a brief moment – just long enough to allow him to release a paragraph of obscenities. With all five on the ledge, two had to stand for lack of room. This had little or no effect on our ability to pass the bottles.
By the time we finished the wine it was very late and very dark. Time to think about rappelling and getting back to Idyllwild. Tom limp went first. Hooman was next, but one problem. Our dear friend, Hooman Aprin, was so inebriated that we did not dare allow him to rappel unbelayed. It was an unforgettable sight – Hooman being belayed as he wobbled down the near vertical pitch into the arms of Tom. That was the easy part.
With everyone down, now we had to get Hooman down the trail. With me on one arm and Huntsman on the other, we escorted Hooman down. No easy task as Hooman was unable to stand without support. Conrad and Limp would take over when Huntsman and I would tire. Thus our relay team was able to get Aprin back to our car.
Last time I saw Hooman was in the Tetons in 1995 where he was guiding for Exum. I hadn’t seen him for over 20 years. He had lost most of his hair, but not his memories of a warm summer evening after a warm summer day of climbing at Tahquitz.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 02:05pm PT
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An Encounter
Not exactly a climbing encounter, but an encounter none-the-less on the way to a climb.
Bud (Ivan) Couch and I had hiked (you can almost drive the entire way) into the Stone House at the base of Lone Pine Peak in the eastern Sierra. Lone Pine residents often refer to it as “The Monastery,” and a hiker’s manual refers to it as the “Stone House”; it is known by the U.S. Forest Service as the “Tuttle Creek Ashram.” Bud wanted to attempt a first ascent of the south face. We decided to spend the night on the floor of the church before beginning what became a complete fiasco the next morning. We spread out our sleeping bags and foam pads on the wooden floor and settled in for the night.
Sometime after dozing off I was awakened by a strange intermittent sound – like someone hesitantly using sandpaper to smooth out the splintered floor. Scrape, scrape ... pause. Scrape, scrape ... pause.
Weird, I thought, and cautiously began reaching for the flashlight lying somewhere on the floor around my head. Scrape, scrape … pause. Scrape, scrape … pause, it continued as I groped in the darkness.
When I finally grasped the flashlight and succeeded in lighting up the floor above my head, there facing me over its booty, with its two little beady eyes flashing, staring directly into the glare, totally unshaken in its task, shuffling backward with intense effort, scrape, scrape … pause, was a tiny field mouse obviously straining under the burden of the Almond Joy candy bar it was dragging to some far off haven in the darkness. The glare had interrupted the felony in progress, but then seemingly unshaken, the mouse continued its backward struggle. Scrape, scrape … pause. Scrape, scrape … pause.
I was so impressed with its show of intense determination, I switched off my light and bid the little bugger goodnight. Couch slept through the entire episode.
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john hansen
climber
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Apr 22, 2019 - 02:14pm PT
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Great stuff Don. Thanks.
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 02:15pm PT
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Memories of Mark
Just a little aside. Yes, TMs Jewel (a Tahquitz climb, FA June 1965) is not an aesthetic climb. Neither Powell nor I liked it on the first ascent. That's why Powell named it TMs Jewel. Not a good bet!
TMs Jewel was the name of a dog running at the dog track in Rapid City when Kamps and Powell were taking time off from climbing in the Needles of South Dakota. Mark figured he couldn't go wrong with a name like TM's Jewel. He laid some big bucks on TMs Jewel to win. The Jewel came in last!
Mark not only remembered limericks - he had an unbelievable memory for climbing routes.
In 1966, when I mentioned that I was going to do the NW face of Half Dome, Mark asked if I needed any help with the route and then sat down and sketched out a pitch-by-pitch topo with little side bars of detail like "be cautious under Psyche Flake" or "the last pitch is easy, but it's important to find the bolt because a fall here could be disastrous".
Then in 1967, before Boche and I went up on the 8th ascent of the Nose, he took out his pencil again and produced another perfect topo of the route. Pitch-by-pitch - perfect.
As for his climbing ability after his ankle was fused, in 1963-64 he put up a few new routes (The Chingadera, The Chauvinist) and variations (The Reach, The Green Arch, Sling Swing Traverse) at Tahquitz Rock.
Some of these routes were well known for sections of "Powell 5.7 friction". Back in the days of Kronhofer klettershoes, friction was more difficult and most often relied on edging more than smearing. Powell attributed his prowess with friction to his fused ankle which allowed him to stand with less effort on small rugosities. His ankle acted as a firm platform. Needless-to-say, "Powell 5.7 friction" seemed more like 5.8 to the rest of us.
I spent the summer of 1965 in the Needles of South Dakota with him and Beverly, Bob and Bonnie Kamps, and Dave Rearick. We did a few first ascents, one of which was The Phallus, where I – being the least experienced - was the last man up and – being the least experienced - was chosen to be the backup to a questionable rappel bolt … and thus – being the least experienced – was the last man down sans backup (the old “if it holds the three of us, it’ll hold you” story).
Sitting around a campfire every evening with the likes of Powell and Kamps in the Needles and Yosemite's Camp-4 are episodes in "My Life in Spire Repair" that are some of the warmest. More on that later.
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Mike Bolte
Trad climber
Planet Earth
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Apr 22, 2019 - 02:16pm PT
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this is fabulous stuff Don - thanks for getting it written down!
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Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 22, 2019 - 02:17pm PT
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A Letter from Doug Robinson
Don, my condolences on joining this nefarious crew. Little good will come of it, and much time will be wasted. Like drinking with your friends, only different.
As in all such mingling stories get trotted out, and at times we come to suspect that they have enlarged a wee bit in the telling. Just to set a good example, here is a tale featuring your good self, and taking place within the last decade to boot.
So Don is helping me with some Foothill College climbing students who we have been lured up to High Camp at the edge of the Palisades Glacier. The glacier was considerably bigger back then (did I mention there was enlargement in the tale?), and the ship of our little expedition had foundered alarmingly, yawing all over the ice, for our stores had run dry of the one most essential of all a ship's staples: rum.
Don jumped up, volunteering to save the day. Jumped? -- he fairly leapt to our aid, for some of us were sorely desiccated by the lack. Now you could hardly tell from Don's casual demeanor the seriousness of his task, for he sauntered away from the glacier camp with just a tiny rucksack and those blue shorts (no cagoule in sight).
Now it is full well ten miles down that trail to the roadhead, and drops five thousand feet into the bargain, but Don's resolve did not waver. And the next thing we knew he was back, having assuredly regained every panting step of the way just to bring us a full-gallon flagon, and for good measure more lemonade powder for the mixing of it. All hands were revived, and the very next day, emboldened by our good fortune, we dispatched the notorious Swiss Arete on mighty Mount Sill.
So, you see, Don is a fine gentle-fellow and always looking out for the good of the crew. We bid you, sir, most welcome.
In closing I make bold with just one small request. Would you mind telling us -- at your leisure, to be sure -- my very favorite of all your stories? 'Tis the one about Norman Clyde's favorite Norman Clyde story...
Cheers mate,
Doug
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ron gomez
Trad climber
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Apr 22, 2019 - 02:18pm PT
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Wow Don, this made my day. This is great reading....hope you just keep writing. Worth of a short story book.
Many Thanks
Peace
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