So Matt and I met over the internet through a climbing partner webpage that has turned out to be the greatest source for finding like minded people on the planet. Matt has a PhD in Oceanography and does some pretty interesting work with Satellite sea surface temperature monitoring so I figured he would be both smart and interesting and hopefully a more experienced climber than I and willing to teach. He turned out to be all of the above and we had a great time doing The Nutcracker, a 6 pitch 5.8 Yosemite Classic as well as some other shorter climbs the previous weekend. That climb was my first serious multi-pitch climb, serious meaning harder than 5.6 and longer than four pitches.

So I was feeling pretty cocky and apparently Matt was also so we decided to try The Braille Book, a 6 pitch 5.8 dihedral with 2 pitches being 5.8 (rated in 1966 by some of the best climbers in the valley). This is also a Yosemite classic, but we figured the crowd factor wouldn't be too much of a problem due to the 2.5 mile, steep talus field that must be climbed on the approach hike. WRONG. When we finally arrived at the base an hour later than we had planned, there was already one party on the 1st pitch and 2 others queued up. This did not look good, but the first party seemed to be moving fairly well, and the next party included a boisterous irishman who had done the route as well as many much harder valley climbs previously so we figured the wouldn’t be too much of a delay. So we resigned ourselves to the long wait, feeling slightly relieved that we didn’t have to jump immediately on the climb.

Now the previous weekend, Matt had ended up having to lead two of the three crux 5.8 pitches on Nutcracker, so this time it was my turn. The only problem was that the crux on this route would turn out to make nutcracker look like a 4th class scramble. But figuring that I had had little problem on the nutcracker, I didn’t figure this one would be much different. WRONG. So we started the climb feeling pretty confident. It became apparent pretty early on that it would be a little chilly at the belays since the route does not receive much afternoon sun and it was quite windy out. So we both decided to take jackets. By the 3rd pitch, we would both be extremely glad of this. We decided not to bring a pack with emergency bivy gear and headlamps as it seemed fairly certain that we would top out before dark.

The first pitch was mine, and having watched 4 people climb it before me, I was not very concerned about it. It turned out to be one of the best pitches on the climb. Nice jam cracks combined with big, knobby face holds on totally vertical terrain made this a very fun lead. Matt quickly followed the pitch and racked up for the next. This one turned out to be more of the same but with more exposure. Matt cruised it and would have made good time if weren’t for having to wait 15 minutes for the other party to vacate the belay ledge. Once he arrived and I followed, we both reveled in the awesome exposure and high quality rock of this great route.

There really isn’t much to compare to the feeling of sitting on a tiny ledge hundreds of feet up a huge cliff suspended by nothing but a few hunks of aluminum. It’s moments like these that life takes on a very vivid and intense vibe and your truly awed by the wonder of it all. The next pitch is the first 5.8 section and starts with an awkward squeeze chimney that leads up to a wide crack in a roof. Now the real fun begins. There is some very serious exposure here as the chimney overhangs the previous belay and you stare down at 300 ft. of air. Needless to say, it took me a while to work myself up to the scary move necessary to pull yourself out of the chimney and over the roof. The crack here is so wide that it requires you to jam your whole arm in it and use a fist jam to lock off and pull through the roof. It sounds weird and insecure, but once you get it right it’s not that bad. I felt good but not entirely satisfied at having done this hard section because I wimped out and grabbed a cam at one point to save us half an hour of me repeatedly falling out of the crack. But I still felt studly. Here I was, 350 ft. up a fairly hard Yosemite climb, having just led a scary offwidth chimney. It’s a pretty cool feeling.

The rest of the pitch went pretty easily despite some reachy face moves with 20 ft. fall potential. This sounds bad, but compared to the crack from hell, it was nothing. Matt quickly scampered up, thus proving that the chimney moves weren’t really that hard, just very exposed for the leader. The next pitch was reported to be 5.6 and 5.7, followed by another scary 5.8 offwidth corner pitch. Needless to say, I really wanted the .6-.7 pitch, but since Matt HAD led most of the hard pitches last weekend, I let him take the easier one. It turned out to be pretty scary for as it was a long, sparcely protected chimney that despite having pretty secure moves and frequent rests, was still quite unnerving. Matt took a seemingly long time on this one and I was starting to get a little worried about time. The other parties were no where in sight by the time I reached the belay, and it was already 7:00pm. We had only brought one liter of water and 2 power bars, having just eaten and hydrated before the climb. We didn’t expect to have much trouble with the climb and it seemed pretty safe to assume we would be off before dark, thirst and hunger set in.

WRONG. By this point we were nearly out of water and food with 2 more pitches to go as well as a steep hike off the top of the rock. Still, it didn’t seem like a serious situation yet and after a short break, I set off on the next pitch. This one turned out to be the true crux of the route and I was scared shitless the entire time. It required you to place your back against one side of the right angle corner whilst smearing off the other side with your feet. There were almost no holds to place your feet on so they would slowly slide off the other wall with every move. This prevented any kind of resting posistion and unless you kept moving, you would slide right out of the corner. I had to hang on the rope twice and unashamedly pulled on some old pitons left in a crack near the top of the corner. Finally, I was able to move on to some face holds and quickly moved up to a little roof that had to be traversed around to the next belay at a small tree.

By the time I reached the tree, I was completely spent and I had to try really hard to setup an adequate belay in my endorphine induced state. Matt didn’t waste any time following the pitch and quickly set out on what appeared to be the 5.7 crack that would lead to the 5.4 “knob fest” and finally the summit. Matt would hopefully finish this in time for us to descend before it became completely dark. 5 minutes passed with absolutely no movement of the rope. Then 15 minutes. He is totally out of sight and I am really starting to get freaked out. ‘What the #$%@ is he doing? This is the easiest pitch of the climb, why doesn’t he just cruise through it get us off this #$%@-ing rock!’ And finally I hear, “Give me some tension, I have to pendulum across this blank face!”

Now things start to look bleak because it is almost completely dark and this last section is supposed to be really easy and straight forward. Clearly we are off route and at the worst possible time. I give him the tension he asks for, and feel him jerk around on the rope. Finally, I start feeding out rope as he moves up. 5 minutes later I hear, “Climb when ready!” ‘Finally, that #$%@-er is at the top!’ I think and it seems like we might actually get off this thing. As I follow the pitch, I am seriously straining to see in the fading light. As I climb around a corner, I see the blank face in question and a huge zig-zag in the rope where he has lowered off a cam in one crack on the left side of the face and pendulumed about 15 ft. to another crack further right. I can’t help but wonder why the #$%@ he even went up the left crack in the first place as it clearly goes nowhere and the right crack is the obvious route to the top. It becomes apparent that I am going to have to climb up about 10 ft. to the cam in the first crack and then face a very nasty pendulum fall as the next piece is directly horizontal from me in the crack to the right. I have to down climb this fairly strenous crack to a point were I can safely pendulum over. A fall here would mean a long, arching sweep, sraping across the face and hitting a small tree on the way. I manage to downclimb it and swing over without too much trouble and then quickly run up the last section as fast as possible.

I was quite relieved at reaching a large, brushy ledge where Matt had belayed and believed this to be the top. We could just make out what looked like a trail leading off to the right that we hoped was the descent. As quickly as possible, I coiled the rope and headed down the supposed descent. Within about 10 ft. it became clear that unless we wanted to rap down into the darkness, we could not descend this way. Which meant one thing: We were completely #$%@-ed. As we climbed back up to the ledge, we could see another wall leading up a bunch of trees and apparently the top. But by this point, it was way too dark to see any features on the face and without a headlamp, there was no way in hell I was going to try and climb this unknown pitch, facing a huge fall back down to the ledge. Matt seemed to agree and we realized we would have to try and wait till morning. But the wind had really picked up we were both soaked in sweat and shivering badly. I didn’t really know what to think. Everything I know about hypothermia says that it is quite possible to die from it even in temperatures above freezing.

In a desperate, paniced state, I noticed a pair of lights down in the valley below. It was two climbers we had seen on Higher Cathedral Spire earlier that day. The had apparently completed the long rappel in time to reach their packs. I desperately wanted to get off this rock and began yelling, “Help! Help! Were stuck on Braille Book with no headlamps!” They didn’t seem to hear me over the wind and I kept yelling as loud as I could. Finally, the lights stopped moving and they yelled back, “Do you need help?” “#$%@ yes! Were stuck with no headlamps! Call YOSAR!’ (Yosemite Search and Rescue). They said they would and I felt some relief at the fact that atleast somebody knew where we were. Matt and I found some shelter from the wind behind some rocks and started to warm up a little. But the more we thought about it, we realized that it would be a long #$%@-ing time before anyone could reach us.

When we realized this, calling for a rescue seemed irrational and it became obvious that the decision was made in a hurried, panic strikin state of mind and I wished we had just sucked it up and waited it out. But it was to late now. I have read in many mountaineering stories how the best way to insulate your body from the ground is to flake out the rope and sit on it like a mat. Of course, since Matt had been the one carrying the rope, he got to use it. So I just untied all my slings and spread them out as best I could in the pitch black. Shivering uncontrollably, I resigned myself to a long wait.

It was nearly 8 hours later when we saw the headlamps at the rim of the valley. The rescue team had taken some wrong turns on the way up and became disoriented. Luckily, once they reached the top of the rock, one of the rescuers recognized the terrain from a previous ascent of Braille Book. A 12 minute free solo ascent. This was exactly the kind of guy you want on a rescue. When he finally identified our posistion by the glare from a carabiner, he said, “That’s you guys right there, huh?” “Yeah, you found us!” “Bitchin’ man. I’ll cruise right down to you.”

He quickly rapped down the wall and rigged a toprope for us to climb out on. The excitement of finally getting off this #$%@-ing ledge had us warmed up pretty well and I quickly headed off up the wall. If we had tried to climb this thing in the dark, it almost certainly would have ended in disaster. The holds were tiny and crumbling and my fingers were so cold I couldn’t feel the rock. I stopped repeatedly to warm them up with my breath. On reaching the rim, I felt releived to be safe and warm and that we wouldn’t have to try and find the descent ourselves. We all walked out the 3 miles from the top, which is no fun in climbing shoes I must mention, and the sky was just lightening when we reached the road. My relief was only broken by the thought of trudging BACK up that #$%@-ing slope to retrieve the gear the next day. Never, ever will I head up a multi pitch climb with no headlamp again in my life. This small, simple device could have saved all of us a hell of allot of trouble. Lessons learned, experience gained. Overall, it had been a blast.