The Zodiac Climb - Part 2
Written by Peder Ourom
And then we were in the Valley. I can’t remember why we picked the Zodiac route. A Charlie Porter masterpiece, it was steep, hard, and dangerous. We would be pushing our limits. A more sensible route would have been the Triple Direct, or the Nose (that I had retreated from already in the nailing the stove leg with pitons era way back in 1977), both would have been much safer options. We wanted a more challenging aid route, and the draw of a Charlie Porter solo masterpiece route was irresistible. It would be around the 10th ascent if we completed the route, all previous climbs had been by very experienced teams. To summarize, a couple of rookie Canadian kids were going to commit to one of the hardest climbs in the world. We wanted a climb that would be the climbing equivalent of a moon landing, not just a lap around the earth.
Half way up the route also changes from vertical to overhanging, and becomes exceedingly difficult. If one of us became stuck or injured, it would be next to impossible for a rescue to take place. For the first time ever, Jim Bridwell sought us out. As he was the high priest of El Capitan, we listened carefully. His thoughts about us successfully climbing the Zodiac were clear. You are over your heads’ boys, and will not survive the route. The head Stonemaster had spoken. I suspect what really concerned him was that if a rescue was to be needed, he would be leading the team, and it would no doubt be a very awkward and dangerous effort. The one thing Bridwell hadn’t taken into consideration was that we were trained by Darryl Hatten, and would follow his mantra: never trust 1 piece of gear, never trust 1 piece.
We spent days preparing our gear, and fixing the first couple of pitches. Just like in the famous Royal Robbins photo, we had monster amounts of gear spread across our camp picnic table. Three 50 metre ropes, 100 pitons and bongs, 150 carabiners, 50 tie offs, hooks, micro R.U.R.P pitons, fistfuls of stoppers and Hexentrics, handmade Copperheads, Jumars, the gear list went on and on. All this gear created a symphony of engineering when it clanged together.
We even had around ten of the new “Friends” camming devices that made crack protection a lot safer and quicker. With them you would be slightly less likely to die on the crux pitches. They had first appeared around 1976, and were unavailable until perhaps 1977. After the American Ray Jardine invented them, free climbing hard cracks became possible. On my first El Capitan attempt two years earlier we had huge Bong pitons and Chouinard Hexentric’s and Stoppers for protection when leading the Stove legs crack on the Nose Route, and it was hard and slow banging in and taking out them out. Some of these pitches you could now climb in minutes with ten cams, and you only needed one hand to place in a crack.
On most leads it would be too much to carry, and mid pitch you would stop and pull up half of the rack. On a regular lead, you would be carrying 100 lbs of gear at the start. Your shoulders were always bruised from the heavy gear slings no matter how much foam you taped to them. Other gear included homemade ladders, haul bags, belay seats, hammocks, and ledges. One-gallon empty bleach bottles, scored from housekeeping across the road from the gas station. Massive rinsing required in order to avoid serious contamination and dehydration problems high up on the wall. Reinforced with duct tape to increase durability.
We had one stuff sac full of “evening” foods, that included sausage, cheese, crushed stone wheat crackers, and cans of fruit salad and sardines. The favourite “day” snack foods were M & Ms, nuts, and melted then remelted chocolate bars. A few cans of Coke were also great for breakfasts.
The most important piece of gear however, was not any of the above. It was our mini-Sony tape deck. The batteries were a huge expense, and many devious ploys were created to distract Curry company sales staff when “acquiring” them. They took eight AA batteries, and were an absolute necessity on climbs where a difficult lead could take 6 hours. You started the season or wall with maybe a selection of 8 cassette choices, unfortunately the best ones were played over and over again until they ate themselves, which was a constant worry. Bob Marley, Fleetwood Mac, Santana were my top choices, and Perry’s favourite was Al Dimeola’s elegant Gypsy (Perry is an excellent musician ). On the long drive back to Canada, your selection had been reduced to the less played Eagles or Jackson Brown. As the batteries wore down, songs would get slower and sloower and slooower. Running on empty indeed.
We were a little nervous after the Jim Bridwell discussion, and ended up recruiting a 3rd climber. Matt Taylor was an Aussie, had already climbed an El Capitan wall this season, and was eager for another. I think Perry and I would have pulled it off by ourselves, but we will never know. After carrying the staggering amounts of gear up to base of the route, with two pitches fixed, we spent the remainder of the evening looking nervously at the incredibly steep wall that loomed above, and swinging above the talus on our ropes for a bit of entertainment.
The starting pitches of the Zodiac were not really that hard. For the first 2 days we aided and free climbed toward the Black Tower, a prominent land mark on the route. Hauling and sorting gear, leading pitches and cleaning pitches, we became comfortable with the exposure. Above this point the route steepened alarmingly. Within a pitch or two, retreat would be impossible. We were only escaping this wall by fully committing to continuing up. Down just did not exist anymore when it was no longer an option.
The small free sections we encountered were a nuisance. Although a little quicker than aid climbing, big wall free climbing sucked. In stiff Robbins boots, with huge aid racks getting in the way, often fighting massive rope drag, it was not a lot quicker then aid climbing. The one exception on the route to this was the Black Tower. My turn to lead, and I found a sneaky way up the back of the tower, instead of going directly up the crack in the front. It was relatively easy, around 5.9. I am not sure if anyone had found this variation before.
Moving onto a huge smooth area of rock, and we were now in the huge grey circle that the route is named after. We had entered the land of the Zodiac. The second lead into the circle climbed a beautiful crack feature, and was named the Nipple pitch. It was a beautiful place to be. Once the sun hit the rock and the air started to move, the swifts would come out to hunt for insects and the falcons would be out hunting them. A rocket speed attack ending with a final shriek, and the swift would cease to exist. It’s a harsh environment on a big wall.
We had now left earth orbit, and were blasting toward the moon. Many years later we heard the news that a strong Austrian team of Thomas and Alexander Huber had free climbed the route. Unfortunately, they left many extra belays and extended anchor points that added to the existing trash on the climb. Eventually a lot of the extra fixed gear was removed by local climbers. A landmark event in Yosemite free climbing history, it remains a very difficult and rarely repeated free route. Fixed gear, modern equipment, and cheater sticks, all removed the “sting” out of the aid climbing Zodiac. In the years that followed massive overuse caused it to change into a beginner wall climbing trade route. This was a sad ending for Charlie’s aid climbing masterpiece.
Perry ended up getting the crux, sort of an upside-down luck of the draw. An A5 lead, and extremely expanding. Here is a description of difficult expanding aid climbing. You need to fully commit to the pitch. Placing the first protection piece, you ease onto it. Lightly starting the next placement, you take a deep breath and clip a tight daisy chain to it. Now comes the excitement. Hitting the second placement hard now, the previous placement you were on FALLS OUT and you swing onto the second. You are required to do this a number of times in a row. In 1979, this was one of the most dangerous leads in the world, and we had been warned about it. Perry had really wanted the lead, and got it. I was not too upset to miss this one, and Perry’s huge wingspan would save a placement or two in any case.
We were very stressed at the belay. At the time, A5 was a mythical grade. It was as hard as it gets. Only climbers like Jim Bridwell could aid climb at this level, many placements would only just hold your bodyweight, and no more. If you made a single error, you would take a massive fall, ripping the pitch of gear from the rock. Your very survival was in doubt. This is why Bridwell had tried to warn us off the route. Somehow Perry completed the pitch without falling, and made it to the belay. One small step for Perry, and two big smiles from his partners. He had led one of the hardest pitches in world, with Bridwell down below in the meadow, watching and waiting, with his notebook in hand, making detailed drawings and deciding on the best spots to rescue the young lads from Canada.
Leaving the bivouac site the next morning, I gently brushed a block that was perched directly above us. It fell off, narrowly missed Perry and Matt. Surprised and a little shaken, I continued up the lead. It had been a close call. Bridwell almost had to review the notes that he had taken in the previous days.
We all cut loose on the climb once, as we had 3 climbers and it was necessary for one person to ascend a free hanging rope that was not connected to anything except the way above you belay. It went like this. The pitch above had been led and cleaned. You were on your own. With precision movements you unattached yourself from the belay. Then you let go. This was only possible because the rock was so overhanging. This was a complete adrenaline rush. Thousands of feet off the ground, and 60’ out in space, you then ascended up the 11mm rope. Give it a try sometime if you get the chance. Or better yet, don’t.
On Day 5 we arrived on the long and skinny Peanut ledge. We had climbed up a corner crack that finished on the right side of the ledge, and you felt sort of contained in the corner. Up on the ledge, we could shuffle to the left, peer directly down into the void, and the exposure was immense. There was no rock below you, only air. A dropped piece of gear would only contact air before impacting the boulder slope, perhaps 100’ out from the base of the wall and 2000’ below you. Standing on your feet was a great feeling after five days of hanging in a harness. We had reached a spot where we could relax a little, and it was looking like Bridwell would not be needed to review his notes after all.
That evening after the regular daily winds slowed and the air became calm, we also had a very special treat. Jazz music, played by master musician John Bachar, drifted up to us on the wall.
We were now 3 pitches from the top. Perry was able to free most of the pitch off the ledge the next morning, a series of wide cracks that would have been much more difficult to aid. It ended with a super awkward belay, tucked under a small roof. Thrashing and kicking him in the head, I managed to get perched up above the roof, on a small slab. Hooking across the flakes and cracks, I arrived at a marginal belay, with only two bad bolts. Imagining them pulling under the force of the haul, I decided to add another. We were 1 pitch from the top.
The next hour was spent painfully hand-drilling a ¼ “ bolt. It goes like this. Hammer, twist, hammer twist, hammer twist, blow out the dust. Constantly checking to see if the hole is deep enough by holding the drill bit against the bolt you are placing. And then hammer and twist, hammer and twist, hammer and twist. Dreading getting the drill bit stuck in the hole. It was a poor bolt, as the drill was dull and the hole wasn’t deep enough. And these bolts were not super good. I had a couple of close calls later in my climbing adventures when both the hangers and bolts failed. New hangers and bolts that is. So, if you are ever at the last belay on the Zodiac wall and notice the messy bolt situation, you know who to blame.
I finished the haul on my now 3 bolt bad station, and Perry cleaned the pitch. With the energy that comes from being on the last pitch of an El Cap route pulsing through him, he launched upward, on aid at first and then a bit of free climbing to finish off. At the age of 21, we had pulled it off. It was my first ascent of El Cap.
From then on, Bridwell would give me a little nod of the head when our paths crossed. We were not Stone masters, but we were close. At the annual John Howe slide show in the winter, after multiple presentations of this mountain and that route, the quality photos that I had taken on route, with my Deluxe Rollie 35mm camera, impressed the demanding crowd. The exception of course was Darryl Hatten, who heckled away in his unique style, laughing at us for calling it a Grade 6. Looking back at the photos today, we were just kids with a crazy look in our eyes, on a crazy overhanging wall.
Our moon landing had been a success, and we had made it back to earth without Bridwell’s notebook.