Discussion Topic |
|
This thread has been locked |
| Messages 1 - 49 of total 49 in this topic |
Owlman
Big Wall climber
Torrey, Utah
|
|
|
Topic Author's Original Post - Mar 2, 2007 - 12:52pm PT
|
Big powder yesterday in Bozeman.
2+ feet of cold smoke fell and we called in sick.
Powder Flu.
Now I'm stuck here... again.... Like many of you may be.
But I cheered myself up thinking bout my bigwall hissy fit on a pitch of Tis-sa-ack - withMidge and Bam Bam. At the base of the tiered Viser roofs I led up to the last steep section...to the left, the upside down tiers looked scary and sharp, with potential swinging to a poky spur. Didn't look like A2 to me...which is usually bomber but awkward in my old book. Anyway, a variation led straight up and out using heads and thin stuff, ending with heads in opposition at the lip.
That opposition thing couldn't be good. Freaking typical...last pitch...so ready to relax...I think A2 out the Visor will be wild but fun...instead I'm about to cry cause I can't find an easy way...like the topo said it would be.
Shock-Anger-Sadness-Acceptance.
What a gumbi.
Shock-Anger-Sadness-Acceptance.
Shock-Anger-Sadness-Acceptance.
I'm a gumbi.
Shock-Anger-Sadness-Acceptance.
Bam Bam and Midge yell up encouraging things (hoping I don't come down and they have to do it - rat bastards - it was Midges pitch, technically).
I get soooo pissed during the Anger phase that I start name and cussing the great sand baggers...a huge list really, that I yelled out...like, "Robbins, phuque that guy...and the Bird...and EC Joe, and Benowitz, and all those guys putting up Cody Ice" (I heard later that our Friend Mute heard me all the way over on the NW Face).
Finally got somewhat composed, looked at Bam Bam and asked him calmly if I missed anyone, tears down my cheeks, and a smile breaking out on Bam's Bam's face. I sent the thin line with heads and mantled a wild shelf up to the very lip where four old bolts greeted me. I was stoked (beautiful bolts!) and lit a smoke to stop shaking. Gumbi yes, but it was a really cool perch to have a smoke.
Midge was so zapped he wandered around for an hour trying to find the next ankor on the slabs. Me and Bam Bam smoked and hung on the bolts at the lip and giggled watching him.
|
|
Rhodo-Router
Gym climber
Otto, NC
|
|
OK. See you that:
I spend all day, day nine, wandering back and forth on that pitch. The first bit goes smoothly, backcleaning to make the jug easier, straightening out the line, and generally feeling smug about this bit of cleverness.
I get to where I can see a bit of yellow tat near the lip, the right-hand topout. Looks hard. Left a bit are the thin heads, etc. Hell no. I'm not going back to the bag to dig all that sh#t out, and besides, that way looks even harder.
Fine. I'll go way left, along the undercut rail. A-1 camming with my feet dangling in space leads me 40 or 50 feet left along this rail-thing, which I could probably free-climb under different circumstances, and what a wild pitch that would be. Eventually, though, this ends under more steep-and-nasty-looking climbing, which mournful assessment sees me reversing the rail, tail between leg. F*ck. I just want off of this thing.
At least this time I get to have fun. Handrailing back across the thing free, plucking the cams to plop into my lap and occasionally resting on a piece to suck in rope, is the most fun I've had all day. Or for a few days, come to think of it.
The traverse reversed, I now resign myself to heading for the yellow slings. A few steep moves and some shameless stick-clipping secures me a 'fixed' blue alien, and a 'fixed' green camalot besides. The yellow slings tease from the lip, now somewhat off to my right, and up a bit. Some grungy traversing, perhaps ten feet below the lip of the whole damn face I've lashed myself to for a week and a half now, will put me below the promised tat. I could stick-clip it from here. I need to get off this thing. I have moaned, sketched, talked extensively to people who were not there, pulled gear, nearly sheared myself from the wall parking cams behind huge, loose flakes in the dark, pulled an inadvertent all-nighter, drunk my piss, drunk piss that was not mine, slept in my shoes because I was too tired to undress, and taken the name of the Lord in vain more than once. I'm ready to be done with it.
I will not, however, stick-clip the last anchor on the route. This, simply put, would be too degrading. A flaring, dirty, horizontal seam between the massive onionskin flakes of Half Dome's summit visor is all that stands between me and the faded yellow mank of those anchors. I try to get a loweball to stick. It won't. The anchors are one move away. I think of the vain pride that sees me stranded here, one move from the top, and I recall a conversation I had with an old Valley vet two years before.
It took me two weeks to find a partner the first time. There was a time when I could ride the old Captain America truck into the lot and be greeted by any number of familiar faces willing to go up on a wall with me, even one as distant, committing and obscure as this one, but clearly my nostalgia alone for this time would not bring it back, and neither would it summon a partner. Eventually, an aspirant Swiss guide signed on, humped his bag up the slabs, drug himself to the Dormitory, and hopped on his first lead, into the Zebra. Fresh off the Zodiac, he was all aflame with the beauty of riding clean gear, tiny brass and camhooks that seated tidily into El Capitan granodiorite.
But Half Dome's rock is not so neat. Its grainier, salt-and-pepper granite spat out his silly camhook, sending him for a short, ankle-breaking ride onto the slab below.
I related this story to a grizzled, hard-of-hearing SAR team sage of many years, who had this to say:
"Fuhk that cleen sh#t, mahn. I don't wanna get huht. That's the bottom line."
And so, without further ado, I drove my last pin into the seam between me and the summit and snagged the yellow tat at the lip of Half Dome.
So? where, you may well ask, is the hissy fit in this story?
Patience, Grasshopper. The fit will come.
I rapped, I hauled, I jugged. I hung from two bolts at the lip. Nothing but a 5.5 slab, according to the topo, lay between me and a night (which was fast approaching) on the ground. Piece of cake. All I had to do was feed myself out a big loop of slack and fire for the summit. 5.5 friction is not something a boy weaned on North Cackalacky slabbage should have a second thought about.
The slab, however, was not to be so easily dismissed. I crept upwards in my duct-taped wall shoes. Gravelly bits, stuck to the rolled-up tape, crunched and rolled unnervingly beneath my feet. I didn't like it. The way off, clearly, lay across to the left and over a series of the damnable overlaps receding from the 2,000-foot void behind me. In no way did I intend to skate down the forty feet of 'easy' slab and sail over the lip onto those two bolts.
Darkness no longer hinted, but had begun to flood the valley below me. I didn't have a lot of time. My free shoes were buried halfway down in the haulbag, which I was not eager to unpack. Obviously my morning planning lacked foresight. I retreated back to the bag. Overtaxed by days of abysmal self-care on the wall, my battered brain dithered, back and forth, over my dwindling options. To dig through the bag, pissing away precious daylight to find the clean, sticky shoes, or to resolutely sack up and fire the slab despite the inappropriate gear? What would Royal Robbins have done? I feinted up the slab again, reached the overlap, plugged some shaky gear, and considered. Those cams couldn't catch a forty-foot slab skidder, I decided, much less the awful plunge over the edge behind it.
It was dark. I was exhausted, frustrated, and frightened beyond any tolerance remaining in my desperately frazzled synapses. Back at the bags, I cried.
FUUUUCCKK!!!!!!!! They could have heard me at the Mobile. The last straw had snapped. I screamed, cried, screamed some more, finally sobbing softly with my head against the lip, my feet still dangling over the northwest face. One more night on the wall.
|
|
Shack
Big Wall climber
Reno NV
|
|
Awesome stories!
|
|
nate23
Trad climber
c-ville, virginia
|
|
last spring upon realizing that the king swing was a crappy place to be learning how to pendulum and under the assumption that I needed to get all the way over into the far corner, I pretty much melted down hung my head and cursed myself for letting everybody down.
Then I swung a wee bit bigger and managed to catch a rounded edge and sort of mantle it out felt a lot better. :-)
|
|
Darnell
Big Wall climber
Chicago
|
|
Hahahahaha! Rob that was great, if you remember I was 7 or 8 pitch's below you soloing Zenith, I heard, er, felt that block go by me in the night, I felt the air pressure change. I was on lead at the time also.
What's funny is right after that I took a 25- 30 ft. fall.
There were free climbers at the base of the wall, biving not to far from me.
They were like WHAT in the hell is going on over there, with the rockfall and my lead fall, all in a 15 min. span.
So they ask me if I am alright and I yell to them, FREE CLIMBERS ARE PUSSY'S!!
haha!
Oh yea, the topic
Can't remember what pitch it was but it was dark and starting to storm, wind blowing hella hard. As usual, I lead into the night, must of been about 11pm or so and I am trying to get the Exp. rainfly over the cliff cabana.
No dice, I was mentally and Physically wasted.!!
I could not get that rainfly on right, I was getting wet, but it was the wind that was really giving me a hard time.
I tried for close to an hour straight, but could not pull it off.
I don't know how many times I broke down during the effort, I just remember screaming as loud as I could on many occasions and cussing like a sailor during most of the event.
I cussed so much I wondered if I would ever be able to kiss me mum on the mouth again with such a dirty mouth.
I finally gave up, shoved all my bivy gear, food, water and essentials into the rainfly and just crawled in.
Good times!!
Soo funny that when I got to the bolt ladders I thought the hard pitch’s were over, little did I know!!
But yea, that last pitch, I lead it in the dark, got off route, went way left, really reachy placements.
Had to plug in a .5 blind, tested it, climb up my aiders real gentle like and shined my headlamp on the placement.
OMG!!!
I looked at it and just as I was thinking, how can that fully expanded cam be holding me? It pop’s out, and I go backwards into the black void! I was like, no way is this happening on the last pitch.
I Jug back up, but now that I have seen the flaring crack, I kinda knew where to place it, even though I had to do it blind.
I get up to the lip, and it’s blank, I get into the last step on my aider’s and I see a shity rusty euro pin drilled into the rock at a really bad angle.
I clip it and pray, it holds, I top out, rap back down and spend my last night on the wall.
Topped out the next day, which was day 14. Lot’s of tourist’s on top, I mean lot’s.
I felt like an alien, everybody looking at me strange like, and they really freaked when the first thing I said to the was, hey, you got a smoke?
When I got down and looked in the mirror it was understandable why they were so freaked! I looked like a prisoner of war.
|
|
Rhodo-Router
Gym climber
Otto, NC
|
|
I was hoping you'd see that post, Rich. Sounds like the topout gives everyone fits-- that old crusty dude in my story told me he topped out in a heinous storm, when all those black streaks suddenly came alive...
"No way is this happening on the last pitch"...that about sums it up.
|
|
Euroford
Trad climber
chicago
|
|
great stories guys! rich's story on the portaledge fly comes up regularly whenever we have some brews in us and the topic of extreme frustration comes up. haha!
|
|
'Pass the Pitons' Pete
Big Wall climber
like Oakville, Ontario, Canada, eh?
|
|
Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!! Great stories.
Fourteen days, eh, Rich? Truly you are on "my" type of schedule, except for the leading into the night [which can be excused if you promise you never started climbing before noon].
I particularly enjoyed your rant of trying to get your rain fly on in the dark and the wind. Dr. Piton says that you should practise setting up your ledge and fly ahead of time, in your garage or hanging from a tree branch, so that when you get on the wall you have the system dialled.
Which reminds me of the time on Tribal Rite when I first attempted to put my new The North Face fly onto my ledge, having never seen the thing before. After more than a half hour of cursing and swearing and starting to get wet, my partner Tom showed me how - it seems that the ledge slides into the zippered doors on either end. Which just goes to show you, "don't do as I do, do as I say!"
Speaking of Tis-sa-ack, one of my favourite rants as I climb a bolt ladder, is to put on a maniacal Royal Robbins voice and scream defensively,
"Why, it's probably the most craftsmanlike ladder of that many bolts in the world!"
As for big wall hissy fits, I shall have to think about it, as there have been many! Certainly my all-time clusterfrig ascent of Zodiac with Neal [lovegasoline] has to be high on the list.
|
|
Mungeclimber
Trad climber
one pass away from the big ditch
|
|
I can remember a time having it out with a partner or two. One where he was dog tired and I said, 'one more pitch' he came alive with 'one more pitch' himself. Then while making that last pitch jugging in the dark with no headlamp, the words fly from my mouth 'I'm leaving the pin'
response "NO DON'T LEAVE THE PIN"
my retort "I CAN'T SEE A GOD DAMN THING... I'll probably pendo and dye. I'm wigged man!!!"
I unclip it and leave the biner too and fly to the right.
"SH#TTTTTTTTTTtttttttttttttttttttttttttt" I scream as I'm flying.
It was all of 8 feet but i couldn't see the anchor and didn't know how far I was going. Stoopid. But all wiped out, having it out and then scaring myself silly in the process, seemed to mellow us out as soon as I got the ledge. Fosters can got popped after the porta ledge was up, and everything was irie!
The mental anguish of wall leads to a rule
If your partner is on lead. He gets to bitch you out as much as he or she wants. You as belayer have a solemn oath of support. A word, or howl, or 'shut up and climb' or gear advice, can be the bell-ring of sanity to a man in a ship that has just left the safety of the harbor. But no matter what the leader has the privelege, and it is understood.
|
|
Karl Baba
Trad climber
Yosemite, Ca
|
|
Is it a coincidence that so many of these stories involve Half Dome?
Is she like a woman who looks like the hottest imaginable babe from a distances but the closer you get, the gnarlier she turns out to be.
Probably only by Yosemite standards. I've had a moment or two in the brush, scree and slime carrying a bag up the death slabs that probably was worse than my worst wall moments. (At least sh#t chimney was dry)
Peace and thanks for the great stories
Peace
Karl
|
|
Mighty Hiker
Social climber
Vancouver, B.C.
|
|
Robbins and Peterson had their moments on Tis-Sa-Ack, also.
|
|
Wheatus
Social climber
CA
|
|
On the first day of climbing Wet Denim Daydream I melted down after being heckled relentlessly for most of the day by some unknown person at the base (hidden in the forest below). This voice repeated two phrases over and over again: "hey! You guys are moving like snails!" and "I've got a song for you: 'You're Gunna Die'!"
The constant heckling from below and my total lack of skill cleaning the overhanging pitches drove me into an out of control rage. Late in the day after hearing "I've got a song for you: ‘You’re Gunna Die!'" for the hundredth time that day. I eloquently replied with: "Shut the F*#k Up!" at the top of my lungs numerous times.
I soon realized that my response was probably heard clearly by all the tourists down at Falls. I felt ashamed losing my composure and kept my rage at bay for the rest of the climb.
|
|
Rhodo-Router
Gym climber
Otto, NC
|
|
Wow, anonymous and persistent heckling. You sure you weren't making that up?
|
|
seamus mcshane
climber
|
|
3:30AM: The Prow, WC 6/97 pitch 5
Background... I talked two partners into doing The Prow in a push. One (let's call him BC)had aided 2-3 pitches max and had jugged a rope on a tree in his yard 20-30 times. The other (MO) had never jugged before. I told them both that the exposure wouldn't bother them one bit, since it would be dark. Hehehe. I had limited experience, but I was again foolishly committed to topping out.
As MO approached the 5th belay, some 600+ feet of air pulling blindly into the dark, he twirled helplessly in space below the relative security of my belay, fully equipped with a smoke, a bowl, water and food.
"GET ME THE F@CK OFF THIS F@CKING ROCK RIGHT F@CKING NOW!!!"
MO bellowed...
Officer Buzzkill had just joined our party.
My only response was to impart the best goodwill possible, and if that didn't cut it, many pipeloads of goodwill would have to do...
Talk about a collective downshift...
The resulting conversation was akin to talking down someone having a bad acid trip. But we topped out...Barely.
Later on I would have my own major malfunction, vomiting a putrid concoction of too-strong Emergen-C through my nose. One of my partners (we may never know who) poured a packet, concentrated enough for a GALLON, into our LAST LITER of water. We spent that night on top and drank water from a can of corn MO found. My head hurt so bad, but the full moon and a handful of Jolly Ranchers allowed us to make it until we could walk out at first light. I ran down the gully in less than 1/2 an hour, scaring people in the hotel parking lot, as usual.
MO always laughs when I bring up our meltdowns.
|
|
Rhodo-Router
Gym climber
Otto, NC
|
|
Bump for good times...
surely y'all have more stories!
|
|
Toker Villain
Big Wall climber
Toquerville, Utah
|
|
Soloing is a valuable lesson in blame assignment.
|
|
Mungeclimber
Trad climber
sorry, just posting out loud.
|
|
was going to post my golden rule about leaders, and saw I already posted.
my work here is done.
|
|
Fat Dad
Trad climber
Los Angeles, CA
|
|
Wall hissies are a great tradition. Although I've thrown many, I thought this one by my friend was particularly memorable.
It's 1981 or '82 and I talk my 17 yr. old buddy who's never finished a wall into trying the Captain with me (who, at 19, had never done the Captain). Not aiming for easy pickings, we decide on Zodiac, which at the time was still old school A3+, not an easy tick. The Chicken Bolt pitch still required strings of rurps and the Loose Block pitch (may it rest in peace) still had loose blocks on it, not a bolt ladder where the blocks used to be.
We make it up into the Circle with some drama but keep chugging away. We're trailing behind Jason Sands and that chick from Romania named Lydja or something like that (Fish always called her "Hidea" for hideous). Every once in a while Jason would toss down a fig newton, a couple of which I actually caught.
It's getting late and I tip toe out under the arch of the Nipple pitch, placing THIN blades up under the arch, wondering what in the hell did Charlie Porter do before the miniscule pins scars that I'm tapping into were there. It's dicey but I make my way over to the wide section and grunt my way through. Jason is hanging out at the belay waiting eons for Lydja to finish the Mark of Zorro. I've no choice but to hang out on some tied pins for what must've been an hour and a half no joke. Jason kept calling up, asking her what's taking so long. She just keeps screaming back, "I'm still climbink."
Finally, it's pretty dark, the moon's coming out and I get to climb up and fix the rope. It's late. We're tired. Been a long day and my buddy still has a funky pitch, with lots of horizontal to clean.
He's cleaning the last pin before getting to the horizonal knife blade section. The minute he pops out that pin, all the knife blades zipper out and the swings it through the dark, ripping out four or five placements, finally stopping at the bolt at the Nipple. I hear this gut level groan rising out of him from deep within his belly:
"I can't take it anymore! I can't take it anymore!" He sounded like Peter Finch in Network.
This goes on for a little while, and after that he's so fried the only thing he can do is whip out his unit and pee against the wall.
|
|
Toker Villain
Big Wall climber
Toquerville, Utah
|
|
"I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more."
(which begs the response, "Oh yeah; watcha gonna do about it?")
|
|
mooch
Big Wall climber
The Immaculate Conception
|
|
"This goes on for a little while, and after that he's so fried the only thing he can do is whip out his unit and pee against the wall."
CLASSICO!! Good Sheeeet Fat Dad!
Gumbi here is working on the 2nd pitch of Bearclaw Headwall (Kerkoff Dome), attempting to solve the mystery of the frickin' century....an A3 pitch involing KB's, #00's and hooks (one bolt for salvation sake). Anyway, yours truly gets to the hook moves (5 of 'em on dimes and quarters) to reach a rivet ladder. For a whole hour, I try to locate the last two moves......BLANK, I say!! The hook I'm on is creaking and I'm not feelin it one damn bit. All I seez is a wild ride waiting to happen......zipper to the 1/4" Leeper! Out comes Moochiana and the distress starts, "I can't find a G-damn thing up here. Mark....I wanna get down! NOW!! Mark shouts up encouragement and suggest picking out something on the left (a decomposing roof).......NAH! I tell him that leads to no mans land. I'm only two hooks away from salavation, with the anchor looming overhead 25' feet. "Dood!....get ready at the belay....I think I'm going soon!" Mark (aka Cool Hand Cuke) reassures me the belay is manned and to keep searching. I feel tears start to swell in my eyes and I feel total despair coming on. One hand is reaching for duct tape and the other against the wall. WAIT!! What was that??! WTF!! I just felt an edge the size of Dinner Ledge! I clear my eye of sissy fluid and look to see that its a God-send vision.....a beautiful 1/2" ledge that just so happened to be camo'd by lichen. Elation and joy.....then whitewash stoopidity. Break out the steps and hook....steps up the ladder and there she be......a beautiful 1/4" rusted stud....ready and waiting to be cinched with a nut. Up and past the stud....I clip my first rivet! I finish the pitch and look down at Mark. I tell him, "You don't suppose you'll want to do 'Freak Show' on North Dome now, would you?" (dirt tear stained face with the subtle words "pussy" written all over it.
Mark mutters something under his breath.....
The world comes back into view again :)
|
|
Mungeclimber
Trad climber
sorry, just posting out loud.
|
|
Freak Show, you say?
|
|
Tom
Big Wall climber
San Luis Obispo CA
|
|
The hauling station above the Fish Crack Roof (Bermuda Dunes) had a free-hanging line of about a hundred feet.
PTPP took off, on solo on the next pitch. And left the bags in space. I'd clean and haul, and we'd summit that day.
The Roof was pins, sorta expando, and hard to clean quickly.
The Bags had time to dance, in the updraft winds.
By the time I cleaned the pitch and got to the hauling station, the two haul bags had twisted and swirled in the updraft. The two haul ropes had become one twisted rope.
I rapped on our spare lead rope, and tried to untwist the mess. Swinging free, kicking the bags in synch with our mutual pendulum action, I was the only thing that started to unwind. A hundred feet down on a rope, and twenty feet from the wall, and 2000 feet from the deck, and completely out of control of the situation, I lost it.
(expletives, and the sordid details of what I called PTPP are deleted, at the behest of the editor)
Eventually, PTPP came down and we simul-hauled (not that way. Two guys, hauling separately on two ropes) and untwisted the ropes to bring the bags into the station. As I remember, we'd only get six inches of twist out of the rope for each cycle.
Don't let two haul bags hang on their ropes below a roof. It will hurt your brain in places you didn't know existed.
|
|
Tom
Big Wall climber
San Luis Obispo CA
|
|
Yeah, spare lead rope.
Yeah, separate haul lines, one for each bag.
Lead rope, two haul ropes and a spare lead rope.
Ever done a big wall?
Ever done a big wall in high/fine style?
PTPP and I are not NIAD type climbers. We are Wall Campers, old guys who drag the Winnebago luxury up the wall with us.
Two haul bags and an extra lead rope weighs nothing, compared to the cost of not bringing enough food and water. I figure it's a hedge against unpredictables, like the weather.
It can pay off.
Like the time the Wall Campers kept camping, in a 3-day June snow storm, and the Wall Climbers were scrambling for descent anchors.
The Wall Campers reached the summit.
|
|
ckalous
Trad climber
Colorado
|
|
Despite other posts where a drunk version of me claims that aid climbing is not hard...
From World's End in the Fishers.
If an aid climber sobs on the wall and nobody hears it, is he still a pussy?
There is pitch up there where you do some nailing and then head up a band of solid stone that has river cobbles imbeded in it. Some stick out far enough that the halfway point on the ellipse is flat enough to use a piece of tieoff webbing to "sling" the cobble. Pure friction keeps these things on. So imagine a rounded cobble, a tie off, and all of your fingers on both hands pressing it in place like playing a teeny-tiny piano. Oh, and right next to the one you are on is an empty hole where there USED to be one!
Unlike a hook that often will at least hang there when you move off of it, these things literally slip off as soon as you unweight them.
So la-dee-da, I am making one, two, three of these moves and so on and I am desperately looking for a bolt that is supposed to be up there someplace. The wall is smooth and I can't see any bolt? WTF Beyer?
Finally, I am on one of the worst of these moves, at least my memory tells me that now, and I can't see any bolt. The sling on the cobble is at chin level and my fingers are all lined up. I probably look like some little kid peering into the candy store. Except, I am sure their is no look of delight in my eyes.
Faced with the prospect of high stepping, I begin to break down. At first it is like a little cough, then a little snort and some snot. Then, like a little drop of dew, a tiny raindrop, almost could have passed for perspiration, a tear rolls down my cheek. Holy f*#king shit! This is so shocking to me, I instantly choke back the next sob. Before it begins again, I swing up into my highsteps and BING, like a pot of gold or a Diamond ring washed up in this primordial beach, there is the god-damn bolt hidden in an indentation!
I clip the thing faster than a new delhi pick-pocket and then, even then, high on that wall in the middle of nowhere, I look around like "Who saw that? Did anybody see that?" No? Well, good. 'Cause I wasn't crying anyway, I had sand in my eye. This thing is pile after all.
|
|
Fat Dad
Trad climber
Los Angeles, CA
|
|
The extra lead rope can be nice, especially if you're cleaning a pitch with some sharp edges. Tie one end of the second line to the haul bag, fix it at the anchors and clip into as a backline if the lead line gets cut.
I've only done it once, on the 19th or 20th pitch of the POW (where it goes up around that sharp corner) and I'm sure glad I had it.
|
|
WoodySt
Trad climber
Riverside
|
|
Years ago on Chinche, we had two guys in our group establish a camp a thousand feet above us so they could get moving and work out the route as we came up. They didn't get with it when they should have and started when we were nearing their high camp. As they began moving up, I noted the leader edging south and under rather large cornices off the summit. I let it go thinking he must see something I didn't. When we reached a point about a hundred feet from the summit, under the cornices and well south of the usual route, I ask why were we where we were, and he replied that "I wanted you to see that there is no way up from here." I completely lost it for the first time in my life; I really wanted to kill him. I started screaming and slashing into the ice with my ax. I kept beating the ice with my ax and yelling "You what! You what! You idiot!" If a friend hadn't stepped in, I think I'd have buried my ax in his head and shoved him into a crevasse. I took the lead and pushed north under the damned cornices and to the north end of the summit formation trying to beat the clock; we didn't make it. After that day the weather moved in and screwed things up.
|
|
k-man
Gym climber
SCruz
|
|
I've yet to read the stories, but this is the best headline I've seen in a long while.
And to answer the question..umm, yes. But heck, the rope didn't stretch 40 like she said it would, and she still wouldn't let go.
|
|
Rhodo-Router
Gym climber
Otto, NC
|
|
|
Nov 11, 2007 - 05:52pm PT
|
I think on hard hooking pitches the Wall Gods require the shedding of the occasional tear before granting passage. Sometimes, one must reach the point of despair--big sigh, head on the wall, quick glance down to confirm the grimness of the scenario-- before one is permitted to recognize that big flat edge where nothing was before.
|
|
Crimpergirl
Social climber
St. Looney
|
|
|
Nov 11, 2007 - 06:12pm PT
|
I am crying from laughing at this most excellent prose!
"...I begin to break down. At first it is like a little cough, then a little snort and some snot. Then, like a little drop of dew, a tiny raindrop, almost could have passed for perspiration, a tear rolls down my cheek. Holy f*#king shit! This is so shocking to me, I instantly choke back the next sob."
|
|
TrundleBum
Trad climber
Las Vegas
|
|
|
Nov 13, 2007 - 03:35pm PT
|
No epic, gripping tale, just good clean heckling.
September 78'
I am reaching the end of my excuses for not going up on my first wall.
Picked Half Dome N.W as a place to start. My partner and I had just celebrated my 18'th birthday on the miserable sloper at the top of the 6th pitch.
We were plodding along upward, not hauling but second jugging with a monster pack. All morning we see this party and they are flying up the route. I was belaying my partner as he started up the bolt ladder of p-9 and I see this party is finishing the pitch below. Just about the time my partner is making the top of the ladder and dropping into the little pendulum, this French madman comes running across the 4'rth class ledges to me, jabbering "Frehnge team, Half dome, one day, we pass, Frehnge team, Half dome, one day we pass...".
I say that's very nice, as soon as I clean this pitch we'll let you pass.
Nope! he would have no part of it.
In a manner officious enough to rival even Napoleon himself, he starts off, French free' up the ladder clipping his biners into ours. He blows through the little pendulum and is standing at the belay with my partner as I start to jug the pitch. I get about 1/2 way up the bolt ladder and the 'Frehnge team's second is right on my ass bat manning up.
I don't know how but the ropes got wrapped a few times because of the way the 'Frehnge team' leader had monkeyed around with the gear while bat manning up our stuff.
Here I am, in jugs, got about a 30lb pack on my back and I am having to play 'ring around the rosie' with this Frenchman. He is squishing between me and the wall as I step over him and then the opposite I am pasting myself against the wall while this guy goes behind/ around me.
Things had been going pretty good all morning, but all of a sudden there was a lot of exposure and I was not a very happy camper. I just decided that this was all a little more drama than I would have wished for. So "Damn the torpedoes" "fight fire with fire" "get dramatic in a dramatic situation" I decide it might be fun to just do a little 'snap job'.
Being almost level with the belay ledge I am looking over at my partner and start in with expletives about these 'Frehnge team' members and their ethics. My partner told me I should pipe down as they might get upset. I chuckled and said in a loud voice to the 'Frehnge team' leader something like "your mother wears army boots!" He just chuckled, looked at my partner and said, "no anglaise". This repeated with the "dad wears soiled panties" and usual gambit of adolescent taunts. I was just warming up.
Yet not getting a reaction from him was very disruptive to my 'tude. I mean "Hey I woke up this morning and if I wanted, I can now go shoot an M16".
I started to swear like a sailor at the guy telling him he was the rudest mofo etc...
All the while he just laughed and kept saying "no anglaise".
I was trying to get this guy's goat and not wining. Pointing my finger straight at him I yelled "you don't understand anglaise, because you are a dumb, ignorant, arrogant, God damn Frog!'
Holy cow!
In a flash, the second this guy hears the word "Frog" he utterly snaps and instantly grabs my partner by the neck with both hands and threatens to throttle him, screaming at him "No Froggy, No Froggy..."
My partner is yelling "shut up, that's an ethnic slur and this guy might have rabies, shut up all ready!"
I finally mellowed out, the situation mellowed out and off they went, peeling flakes, dropping rocks and yarding their way upward.
They did not make the top in a day and spent the night out in slings with probably nothing more than a wool hat and a duvet. When they topped out the next morning we were making our way up the zigs when they hung over the edge and yelled down "American team.... ha ha ha 'Frehnge team' - 1/2 dome, 1 1/2 day"
I just yelled back up "Muhhahhahhah... and one miserable night out"
About 2 days later I see the 'Frehnge team' in the general store, I talked to them a little and with pantomime ribbed them about freezing their 'tah tah's off up there. I had gone through the check out line and was headed for the door when I see the 'Frehnge team' still shopping in an aisle. I just couldn't help myself, with a huge grin, I whistled. As they turned to look I 'flipped them off' and said "Dumb frogies".
Holy toledo, OMG, sh&t....
The guy drops his stuff and bum rushes me and proceeded to chase me 1/2 way to the Ahwahnee.
I didn't see those guys again but I did make a point to move out of Camp 4 and take up residence at the 'Ahwahnee bivy' for a week or so.
|
|
Toker Villain
Big Wall climber
Toquerville, Utah
|
|
|
Nov 13, 2007 - 03:53pm PT
|
You should have pantomimed cutting his rope when he first tried to pass you.
|
|
Crimpergirl
Social climber
Boulder, Colorado!
|
|
|
Dec 31, 2008 - 12:31am PT
|
No big wall hissys here. Thousands on short walls. There isn't enough time in the day to describe them all. I'll let a photo do the talking:
|
|
bvb
Social climber
flagstaff arizona
|
|
|
Dec 31, 2008 - 12:43am PT
|
never had a hissy on a wall. lots of MAJOR hissys on sh#t i didn't have to bivvy on.
only wall i ever slept on was in baja, too scared to expend energy on arguing with my partner...
glad to say i'm now way too sage and way too tired to ever argue with a climbing partner again.
life is too short, climbing is too good.
|
|
neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
|
|
|
Dec 31, 2008 - 01:03am PT
|
hey there crimpergrrl.. say, done-proper, by your picture post...
each wall is unique.. big wall, small wall... what IS important is that the proper "hissy fit" is applied for each surcomstance... being that:
each wall, big or small, had its own way of trying to "whittle away" the human stamina... and each response of such, much match said-situation...
course, i know, one can choose not to have one, but this is a "fitting" post for displaying them... :)
thanks for your fast and to the point share...
*the other shares, of course, are just great... i greatly ADMIRE the stamina of you all... to conquer these walls...
may you all, in your wonderful, though at times dangerous climbs, have less "hissy fits", due to things falling into sink, a mite more, and thus, more "gloating and glee" (especially over saftey issues, after an unseen mess-up) and then, too some relaxed bending of a thankful knee....
great share, guys...
|
|
ec
climber
ca
|
|
|
Dec 31, 2008 - 02:52am PT
|
Did I hear my name in reference to this Owlman?
"...I start name and cussing the great sand baggers...a huge list really, that I yelled out...like, "Robbins, phuque that guy...and the Bird...and EC Joe..."-Owlman
The definition of the term 'sandbag' as excerpted from the American Heritage Dictionary:
sand·bag
3. Slang c. To downplay or misrepresent one's ability in a game or activity in order to deceive (someone), especially in gambling: sandbagged the pool player by playing poorly in the first game when stakes were low.
LOL - ec
|
|
Captain...or Skully
Trad climber
North of the Owyhees
|
|
|
Dec 31, 2008 - 01:40pm PT
|
More Hissy bumps....because a hissy fit can result in bumps.
I DO have a hammer.......
|
|
apogee
climber
|
|
|
Dec 31, 2008 - 02:12pm PT
|
I'll bite, though this doesn't approach the epic quality of some of the posts thusfar. On our first attempt on Spaceshot, Rob & I drove from San Diego only to arrive and find the walls coated in rimy ice and snow. Went home. Our second attempt looked more promising- we arrived in the afternoon and fixed the first few pitches, then rapped and crashed at the campground, intending to send it in a day, and brought no bivy gear. Our alpine start greeted us with cloudy, drizzly skies, but we gave it a shot anyway. I lead the first pitch, a bolt ladder to an A1 crack- the transition b/w them was a bit tricky, though- the start of the crack was so blown out & flared, I couldn't get anything to stick. After fiddling with everything I had on my rack, I stuffed my cleaning tool into the hole and tied it off short, and moved through it. Yay!
As we moved through P2 & 3, the weather started getting funkier- heavier clouds, and I started getting that 'bail' feeling, which I have experienced before for no good, rational reason, except utter pansy-fear. It's getting darker and funkier, and I keep yelling to Rob, 'Dude- maybe we should bail!', feeling conflicted and a bit of a wanker. Rob shouts back confidently, 'Let's go for it!' That pansy-feeling persists, and I whine back to Rob- Let's bail! He reluctantly agrees, and we begin rapping.
Of course, as we rap, a huge blue sky opens up, and the feeling of being a wanker is now complete. Rob is quiet, and I am trying to rationalize my insistence as best I can, with limited success. I suck.
Epilogue: Just as we reached the cars, the mother-of-all-storms slams into Zion, and we watch the walls turn into waterfalls with a beer in our hands and the stereo blazing, from the comfort of our rig. Sometimes hissy fits work out.
|
|
Largo
Sport climber
Venice, Ca
|
|
|
Dec 31, 2008 - 02:37pm PT
|
If you haven't had a hissy fit on a wall you need to do more walls and just get it out of your system. Hungry, tired and scared contribute to a hissy fit most every time.
Also heat. One time (like, on day 4) on the first ascent of a new route on the South Face of Mt. Watkins, Yosemite, I was so fried after leading a pitch that I went on a rant for like ten mintues. That's when I understood how people get killed . . .
JL
|
|
Captain...or Skully
Trad climber
North of the Owyhees
|
|
|
Dec 31, 2008 - 07:19pm PT
|
Hungry, tired, scared, thirsty, overheated, frozen bump.
|
|
COT
climber
Door Number 3
|
|
|
Dec 31, 2008 - 08:05pm PT
|
After dealing with the stuck fu$%ing pigs for more than an hour!!!
|
|
Captain...or Skully
Trad climber
North of the Owyhees
|
|
Lookin' pretty growley, there, hoss.
Arrgh.
|
|
nutjob
Stoked OW climber
San Jose, CA
|
|
I've been pretty mellow and good-spirited on most of my climbs, even during uncomfortable/uncertain situations. Maybe that just means I haven't been that uncomfortable yet.
I'm not given to cussing, but I do recall the time I led all pitches on Crest Jewel, more or less as my first slab climb. I was scared just about the whole way, especially after three 25-foot sliders at the same spot on the first linked pitch, and knowing the crux rating was higher on the route. After every pitch where I felt like I was scared to death and barely surviving, up comes my partner trotting up the pitch on second and whistling dixie, saying how easy it is. But he wouldn't lead a thing. We have always climbed at about the same level.
About halfway through the day, with venom, I called him an A$$H0LE to his face.
Well, that's about it for me. I assume that primal screams for S-L-A-CK ! ! ! don't really count.
|
|
east side underground
Trad climber
Hilton crk,ca
|
|
well here's a dual hissy fit, me and strassman are on the salathe and he draws the dreaded (by me )hollow flake pitch. He starts clawing his way up the thing and shortly the hissying begins, he's screaming and struggling and about 40 or so feet into it he decides to lie-back the edge, this is where I start to hissy. I'm yelling "get the f@@#k back in the crack " as he is slipping and grappling on the lie back. I'm thinking he's going to fly off the thing and pile right on top of me! MURRY get back in the crack you idiot!!!! Finally he makes back into the crack but he is in a pretty good panic by now. Then he yells and begins to laugh out of control " a rope,a rope " he reaches in the crack and pulls out a 9mm rope and clips it, fully weighting the thing takes a breather to re-group. Still gidy he fires up the rest of the pitch no problem. I jug up to hollow flake ledge, murry is re- racking, so I check out "the rope" and realize it's only looped through the anchor someone got it stuck while retreating and must have cut it. I yell to murry "check it out" and gently pull the rope free, we both look at each other and say OOOHHH MAAAANNNN!!!!
|
|
Rhodo-Router
Gym climber
sawatch choss
|
|
|
Jun 10, 2018 - 11:08am PT
|
Not quite a hissy fit, but there was that one time I kind of tweaked on Hoots at the end of the day cuz he hauled the bags into the only good spot on the ledge and made us hang in space to deal with setting the ghetto up.
Anyhow, it's been nine years for y'all to come up with some good stories so I'm bumping this one!
|
|
Reilly
Mountain climber
The Other Monrovia- CA
|
|
|
Jun 10, 2018 - 04:00pm PT
|
It’s KNOTT a hissy fit if somebody is guzzling more than hiis share of the water!
|
|
Don Lauria
Trad climber
Bishop, CA
|
|
|
Jun 11, 2018 - 12:55am PT
|
On the 8th ascent of the Nose in 1967, it was raining and it continued to rain for most of the climb. We, Ken Boche and I, began the ascent in the Winter of 1967 (March 20) and finished in the Spring of 1967 (March 26). Ordinarily, the impending weather would have postponed our plans, but since I was limited by the open window of Spring break, we pressed on. We were not enjoying the the cascading runnels of ice cold water that entered our sleeves and exited into our Krohoffers. We were not a happy couple.
Now, I know Ken may not remember this and may deny it, but it is indelibly etched in my cranium. Here's the scenario.
While Ken was leading up to the Great Roof, I made some kind of nasty remark. Not sure what I said. Probably had some thing to do with climbing speed. At this point in my extended lifetime, I cannot recall what I said, but Ken took offense. His retort, "You can't talk to me that way, I have a college degree"!
Now that's a hissy fit.
Remember that BooDawg?
|
|
skywalker1
Trad climber
co
|
|
|
Jun 11, 2018 - 01:16am PT
|
Well hell where is Jungle? Or Prone, Constant, Shute, or Hurley? Or the f*#king medical kit???!!!! ;-).
I didn't read the whole post but F&%k my partner who snarled the haul line in a way that I had to rebuild the whole anchor from a hanging belay 1000' off the deck while he watched and was useless despite his own "credentials"
We are still friends...
S....
|
|
| Messages 1 - 49 of total 49 in this topic |
|
SuperTopo on the Web
|
Let us know!