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K2 1938: The First American Karakoram Expedition

Yosemite

A Trip To Remember: A Story From the Catalyst Grant

Adapted from the 2021 trip report written by Adrien Costa.

The Catalyst Grant awards funds to individuals and teams who face barriers in accessing the climbing community and identify with an underrepresented group.


I free-wheeled down the tree-lined road, shaking out the legs that had just taken me up and over Tioga Pass from Lee Vining on yet another 5+ hour training ride. Up high, much higher than the tallest pines, loomed the world’s most famous granite wall. And up on El Cap, one could make out tiny dots stubbornly inching their way up, giving massive scale to the wall. At night, the dots turned into a constellation of stars, almost indistinguishable from the night sky. How I longed to be one of those dots, to feel the air and the wind below my feet, to see the trees in the meadow below as little crowns of broccoli, to have no concerns more pressing than scaling this cliff. But I had other things to do with my life. It was only 2014. My dream of becoming a professional road cyclist was turning closer to reality every day. All I had to do was keep pedaling. This improbable, half-insane climbing desire could find a resting place, for now, in the deepest corners of my brain.  

Seven years later, I whipped my truck into the small pullout below the boulder and scree field leading up to El Cap’s shorter, but ridiculously steep, southeast face. The clock reads 4:46 AM. I step out and stand on one leg of bone and flesh, the other of metal and hydraulics. I am no longer a professional road cyclist. I no longer have two legs. Looking up at the dark  outline of El Cap, I wonder whose life I am now living. I sure as hell never expected mine to look like this.  

The universe has this rather bothersome tendency to remind us that the only constant is  change, the only sure thing is that nothing is certain. I learned this the hard way. Us humans fight this, often subconsciously. We try to fight change by controlling everything we can, including our accomplishments and our material possessions. It can quickly become dangerously difficult to parse the imagined from the real, the tangible from the illusion.

I felt that I needed an adventure to shake myself out of the daze of daily life I found myself trapped in. I wanted to see if I could find a sliver of peace or wisdom up there. But I mostly just wanted to simplify my existence. It would be just me, my gear, and this rock. No illusions. Only, as I was about to find out, a whole lot of work.  

Climbing a full-length, Grade VI route on El Capitan, by myself, was my big goal for the second half of my rock climbing season. I see and feel, on a daily basis, how much assumption goes on in the climbing world around ability and disability. I wanted to shatter this paradigm; to prove that, with the right support, anybody can accomplish anything they put their heart and soul into. I wanted this climb to be a call for much-needed inclusion and open-mindedness in our climbing community.  

For me personally, this climb represented a big stepping-stone in my climbing, moving towards more committing, more involved multi-day objectives as I seek to continue developing myself as a versatile climber, comfortable in all media.  

Zodiac, Adrien’s original plan, was too wet.

I finished shuttling my two loads to the base just as the sun was rising. My original plan was to climb Zodiac (C3), a 16-pitch route of moderate, clean aid that has frequently been referred to as a good introduction to “real aid” on El Cap. But a recent storm had soaked the first few pitches of the route, and I didn’t want to start a 4-day odyssey soaking wet. Luckily, I had a topo and gear for the nearby Tangerine Trip (5.9 C3+), which appeared steep enough to be completely dry. Between its consistent overhang, a huge traverse on the fifth pitch, and the fact that this route sees a bit less traffic than Zodiac, it was all starting to feel much more committing, and exciting, than my original plan.

I decided to start the trip via the first pitch of Lost in America, shown as “C3F Bad Fall” in the  topo, which proved to be one of the cruxes of the route. I built my first anchor, cloved off a couple pieces low, and started up the pitch. My last piece of good protection was only 20 feet off the ground was well aware that blowing any piece on this first pitch could result in a ground fall. Very gingerly I inched my way up, breathing a huge sigh of relief upon regaining moderate terrain. I looked at my phone and realized that close to two hours had gone by. The next couple leads took some time as I got back in the rhythm of “real” aid climbing. I got my ropes fixed to the top of pitch 4, and having found a small ledge system below, decided to bivy there. It was a bit demoralizing to be just a couple hundred feet off the ground after a very long  day of work, but I set my alarm for early and tried to enjoy the opportunity to rest.  

The next morning, I broke down the portaledge, sipped my coffee, pooped in a homemade WAG bag, and jugged and hauled to my high point. Here, I finally joined Tangerine Trip proper for the committing 160-foot leftward traverse pitch. The lead was fine, albeit long, but rapping the lead line, and then cleaning the pitch, was as demanding as leading itself. The next couple pitches went well, but still slower than I would’ve liked.  

I forced down some plain ramen for dinner, and was stoked to be able to hang my prosthetic leg with me inside my small portaledge’s fly to charge its battery for the night. This is something I have to keep tabs on during any overnight adventure, and is something I have paid the cost of being complacent with.  

By the end of the following day, I was really starting to feel the stress simmering. A stuck tag line had cost me a lot of time and mental energy earlier in the day. I was also running out of water and knew I needed to top out the next day. But in order to do this, I’d need to fix one more pitch in the dark. The issue was that my headlamp was running out of juice, and my spare batteries were already dead. The stress and pressure was compounding. I had to act.

So I set off, keeping my headlamp as dim as possible, and hoping I wouldn’t get led astray. I tried to climb as efficiently as possible. It turns out that this pitch is also the route’s chossiest. It’s hard to believe there could be any loose rock up there, but I found it in spades as I quested upwards, always upwards, into the dark.  

This was by far the mental crux of the climb. I felt so alone, so vulnerable, so close yet so far from the top, with very little margin for error. I cannot describe the relief that swept through my body once I could faintly make out the line of bolts of the anchor.  

I tucked into my sleeping bag just before midnight, but was stoked on a good day of work, and confident that I’d be standing on top the next day.  

I definitely had not anticipated the nonstop focus that I had to endure for four days straight. It wore me down, but by the last day I found a good rhythm, and started letting my body move on autopilot through the steps. Stack haul line. Stack tag line. Set up lead anchor. Select gear for pitch. Put on GriGri and Microtrax. Climb the pitch. Tag up anchor and haul kit. Fix lead and haul lines. Rap the pitch. Release the bags. Clean the anchor. Jug and clean the pitch. Haul. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

While free-climbing on the last couple pitches, I finally let myself have dreams of pizza.  Touching the tree on top was surreal, and walking felt foreign, but more pressing at that moment were water, food, and figuring out how to get my 100+ lbs of gear, sprawled into various growing piles, off the mountain in one load.  

What ensued was hell. With my haulbag on my back, a light backpack on my chest, a trekking pole in one hand and my portaledge in another, I stumbled and yardsaled my way down the East Ledges descent. I broke my prosthetic foot on the descent—under so much weight, the carbon fiber splintered from nothing more than a little trip. I could still walk (or hobble), but I could hear the fibers crackling with every step.  

Four hours after leaving the tree on top, I walked in disbelief into the El Cap picnic area. The Trip was complete. 

Looking back, I realize that aid soloing is a lot like pressing the fast-forward button on life. Every minute action, every decision you make has consequences that are felt, and must be dealt with, without delay. And these consequences range from a minor inconvenience, and time wasted, to time not really existing anymore for you. The constant low grade stress for days on end was exhausting, and yet there was no room for fear, nor any time to sit back. Only action could push my ropes further up the wall. Perhaps this is indeed an apt metaphor for life.  

I have also come to realize that we have no option but to embrace change and make the most of the circumstances we are presented with. Life has taken me in directions I could never have envisioned as that fresh-faced boy riding his bike through the Valley. But by adapting and trusting the process, I was able to become, for a short little while, one of those tiny dots on that big, big wall.  

A Note of Thanks:

To see the AAC come out with the Catalyst Grant, promoting inclusion and diversity in a sport which needs it so desperately, was incredibly meaningful and motivating. I deeply value what results when we invite more diverse folks into our community. When we do, we strengthen and deepen the human connections we share while recreating in the natural world we all love.  

And I can honestly say that the folks at High-Fives Foundation are changing lives. Their work greatly decreases the barriers to adaptive athletes’ participation in our favorite outdoor sports. Having worked in the adaptive sports world, I cannot overstate the importance of the sense of agency, independence, and community that sport can bring an individual, and how these experiences can transform the course of someone’s life. Rock on!

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In Search of Yosemite's Heart: One Writer's Journey Into the Valley of Giants

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by Lauren DeLaunay Miller

photos by the Ellie Hawkins and Molly Higgins collections

Ellie Hawkins during an early ascent of the North America Wall, 1973, Yosemite National Park, CA. Land of the Central Sierra Miwok people. Keith Nannery.

To steal from author John Green, I fell in love with rock climbing the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once. I was an indoorsy undergraduate at the University of North Carolina when I fell face-first into the world of climbing, thanks in large part to a picture in a magazine. My love for climbing has always been attached to an obsession with Yosemite, that ultimate proving ground of American rock climbers, but before I could make my way out there myself, I tried as hard as I could to connect with that world while still confined to the walls of libraries in Chapel Hill. Climbing literature was my portal, but it didn’t take long to exhaust my options. I don’t know if I could have articulated to you then why—or even that I was—searching for books written by women, but what I did know was that I was going to learn as much as I could about my heroes and try as best as I could to follow in their footsteps.

Five years after graduating, I moved into my new home in the back of Camp 4. The Yosemite Search & Rescue site has a mystical, magical air. To walk into the site is to, quite literally, walk in the footsteps of giants. I’ve climbed at a lot of American climbing destinations, from the New and Red River Gorges in the East, to Indian Creek, Joshua Tree, Red Rock Canyon, and Rocky Mountain National Park, but nowhere have I found the lore as strong as in Yosemite.

At my now-local crag, we often refer to routes as “that 10b arete” or “the 5.11 crack to the left of the 12a.” But in Yosemite, routes have names. Astroman, the Central Pillar of Frenzy, Steck-Salathé, The Nose! We know their first ascensionists, and we know their stories. And these stories get passed down, sometimes in writing but often at campfires and dinner parties, fueled by whiskey or coffee or both. So while it didn’t take long for me to realize that there was a gap between the women’s stories I was hearing and those I was reading, it did take me a few years to muster up the courage to try to close that gap myself.

The idea for the book lived quietly in my head, but as it became louder and louder, I started to shyly share it with my climbing partners. “Don’t you think it would be cool,” I’d mutter, “if there were a whole book about women climbing in Yosemite?” The more I shared my vision, the more it grew. I started scanning old climbing magazines, making lists of the women I’d need to include. Friends started sending me articles they came across, screenshots of Supertopo forums and Mountain Project threads. I spent days at the new Yosemite Climbing Association museum in Mariposa going through thousands of pages of old magazines. At first, everything was centered on building “the list,” my dream list of contributors, and eventually I thought it might just be enough to submit as a book proposal.

Ellie Hawkins gets prepped for the void on the first ascent of Dyslexia (VI 5.10d A4), completed solo, 1985. Bruce Hawkins

I’ve always been the type of person who gets stuck on an idea and can’t shake it until I’ve seen it through. When I started climbing, I gave myself five years to climb El Cap, even though at the time I barely knew how to belay. Nearly every decision I made from that moment propelled me toward my goal, and I recognized the same level of obsession once I became hooked on the idea for this book. I made my proposal and sent it off to three publishing companies. I was living in a tent cabin in Camp 4 by then, and while my own world was consumed by Yosemite, I didn’t know if my idea would resonate outside of my community. But my first conversation with Emily White at Mountaineers Books soothed my concerns, and I knew my project would be safe under her supervision. I signed on the dotted line; I had just over a year to make this thing happen.

I started with the people I knew or could get personal introductions to. I met with Babsi Zangerl in her campervan in the Valley, and she was eager to be a part of the book. That was the moment I thought that I might actually be able to pull this off. Soon, Liz Robbins called, thanks to some coaxing by Ken Yager at the Yosemite Climbing Association. I drew on all the connections I’d made through my climbing career, and every response gave me a jolt of electricity. Fourteen months later, I turned in everything I had: 38 stories, totaling over 76,000 words.

Molly Higgins and Barb Eastman atop El Cap after the first all-female ascent of The Nose, 1977. Larry Bruce

Molly Higgins leading to The Nose’s famous feature, the Great Roof. AAC member Barb Eastman

When Molly Higgins mentioned to Lauren that she had some old boxes of slides from her time in Yosemite, Lauren knew she had to see them. Prepared to see some faded, blurry images at best, she unearthed dozens of boxes—slide after slide of perfectly preserved photographs documenting some of the most courageous ascents of a generation, including images from the first all-female ascent of The Nose on El Cap in 1977. With the tremendous help of the AAC Library, Lauren organized Molly’s collection into an online exhibit which can be viewed at here.

Ellie Hawkins—the other photo contributer for this piece—might not be a household name in the world of Yosemite climbing, but she certainly should be. She’s the only woman to ever establish a Yosemite big wall first ascent completely solo, with Dyslexia (VI 5.10d A4) in the Ribbon Falls Amphitheater. The route was aptly named. Ellie battled a terrible case of dyslexia that often complicated her climbing. Despite these challenges, an early ascent of El Cap’s North America Wall (5.8 C3) and a solo of Never Never Land (5.10a) earned Ellie’s place among the Valley’s legends. Lauren was able to digitize and preserve Ellie’s collection of slides and prints as well, a few of which are featured here.

One of the greatest gifts of working on this book came in the form of a few phone conversations with Liz Robbins. Liz is the author of one of my favorite pieces in the book, a story written years ago for Alpinist magazine that tells of her experience establishing the first ascent of The Nutcracker Suite (5.8), the first route in Yosemite to be climbed entirely on clean protection. The Nutcracker, as it is commonly known today, was the first route I ever climbed in Yosemite, years before I ended up working on the Search & Rescue team. Having driven all through the night from the mountain West, across the wide open sagebrush of Nevada, up through the winding granite slabs of Tuolumne, and down, at long last, to Yosemite Valley, I woke up at dawn, claimed my spot in Camp 4, and went straight to the Manure Pile Buttress. I once read that a “classic” climb must be at least one, if not all, of these three things: aesthetically pleasing, historically significant, and full of spectacular climbing. The Nutcracker Suite has it all, and it made for an unforgettable first Yosemite experience.

Ellie Hawkins on a solo ascent of Never Never Land (5.10a), Yosemite Valley National Park, CA. Land of the Central Sierra Miwok people. Bruce Hawkins

It’s been more than five years since that first Valley climb, and when I told Liz about my experience climbing it, we realized that because of her and Royal’s decision not to place pitons, the route climbs just about the same way today as it did during her first ascent. Of course, it is greasy with chalk and rubber from thousands of ascents, but it is not scarred the way other Yosemite routes are. Where I smeared, Liz had smeared, and where I stuffed my fingers in the crack, so had she.

Barb Eastman walking out the infamous Thank God Ledge during the first all-female ascent of Half Dome’s Regular Northwest Face(5.9C1),1976. AAC member Molly Higgins

At the end of the story, Liz expresses the mental tug-of-war she often engaged in when climbing. Her doubts about her abilities echoed my own insecurities about the making of this book. Who was I to engage in such an important project? But, as did Liz, I found time and time again that I’d yet to come across the problem that demanded more of me than I could give. Of course, this book is not perfect. There are holes—gaping ones—ones that jump out at me baring teeth and ones that, surely, I will see more clearly with time. But soon we will have in our hands the stories of 38 women who have, at one time or another, found themselves at the center of Yosemite climbing. We start in 1938 and run smack into the present, and it would horrify my editor if she knew that I were still adding stories the day before my first draft was due. But just as Steck & Roper implored us to think of their 50 Classic Climbs as some classic climbs and not the classic climbs, so too do these stories tell of the experiences of some women, not the women. Because there are so many more stories, so many more voices, so many more experiences worth telling and retelling. And as Liz so eloquently writes: I’ve only just begun the excavation.

Lauren DeLaunay Miller served on the Yosemite Search & Rescue team while completing her book, Valley of Giants: Stories from Women at the Heart of Yosemite Climbing (Mountaineers Books, Spring 2022), an anthology of stories that document the history of women’s climbing in Yosemite National Park. Lauren lives in Bishop, CA where she is a founding board member of the Bishop Climbers Coalition and Coordinator for the AAC’s Bishop Highball Craggin’ Classic. She is currently pursuing her master’s degree in Journalism at the University of California in Berkeley.

The New Era of Climbing Management Plans & Regulations

Climbers gazing up at Middle Cathedral from the floor of Yosemite Valley. Yosemite was recently the scene of a new permitting process for big wall climbers. Lands of the Central Sierra Miwok peoples. AAC Member Bryan Meyer

5 minute read

The New Era of Climbing Management Plans & Regulations

Taylor Luneau, AAC Policy Manager

Across the country, people are flocking to recreate on our nations’ public lands in record setting numbers. Calico Basin, found within the world famous Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area, experienced a 340% increase in visitation over the past decade. Across the West, peak season campsite occupancy rates have risen by an estimated 47% since 2014. The phenomena, which Colorado State University’s Public Land History Center is aptly calling “the Public Landemic” has been widely reported on and our climbing areas are feeling the pressure like everywhere else.

While the pandemic pushed people out of climbing gyms and up to our local crags, the climbing communities’ massive growth can also be attributed to, among other things, the explosion of climbing gyms across the country, the emergence of climbers at the Oscars, and the long awaited appearance of climbing in the Olympics—outcomes that naturally, we would all celebrate. But with growth comes growing pains. The flood of climbers into the outdoors is creating a tipping point for land managers who, due to lack of sustained funding and staff capacity, struggle to mitigate the increased stress on infrastructure caused by overcrowding. In response, the climbing community is experiencing a notable uptick in new regulations such as permit programs, timed entry and fee systems as well as other restrictions to our favorite climbing destinations.

Climbers at a busy crag at Calico Basin in Red Rocks Canyon National Conservation Area. These popular sport climbing areas outside Las Vegas, NV have seen some of the highest increase in use over the past 10 years. Lands of the Southern Paiute, & Newe peoples. AAC member Jon Glassberg

While I do not openly welcome any limitations on our communities’ access to climbing, I do understand that there are certain limits of unacceptable impacts to ecological and cultural resources as well as the recreational experience itself, that land managers are tasked with monitoring and mitigating. In the best case scenario, agency officials will make management recommendations that are supported by authentic community engagement, grounded in science, and adaptable to new information and recreation trends. Where in some areas a timed entry program may be a useful management tool, in others, that tool may be totally misapplied. This gets to the heart of why the AAC continues to fight for the public process and transparency embodied in the National Environmental Policy Act—the Magna Carta of environmental law and the legal basis that allows the public to comment on the management of our public lands. The land management programs that are being proposed to address overcrowding on our public lands must be tailored to the needs and specifics of the given landscape and its affiliated communities; this public comment process allows this to manifest.

Over the past year I’ve witnessed our community lean into this reality in a big way. Climbers stepped up to engage in difficult discussions on how to establish route development ethics in Ten Sleep (a plan that was recently abandoned due to US Forest Service staffing shortages), they provided critical insights on how our community interacts with wilderness climbing resources in Joshua Tree and Yosemite, they shared feedback on use patterns in Calico Basin, and they offered valuable knowledge on access points to Old Rag in Shenandoah National Park – just to name a few.

Advocacy doesn’t just happen on Capitol Hill. You
can always get involved with a trail maintenance or clean up day at your local climbing area. Here, climbers give back to the crags they love during the Smith Rock Craggin Classic. Lands of the Tenino peoples and Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs. AAC member Luke Humphrey

At several recent public hearings regarding management plans for climbing areas across the country (such as the Calico Basin RAMP/EA where hundreds of climbers showed up to share their thoughts) I’ve heard comments regarding these rules as stifling the spontaneous nature of climbing and limiting the freedom we’ve experienced as a user group for decades. These are valuable and important concerns that must be communicated to land management agencies. Climbers must actively engage in these regulatory discussions and call attention to when agencies can be doing better. In doing so, we can emphasize a deep understanding of our user groups’ distinct needs, movement patterns, and cultural values. When appropriate, we must hold decision makers accountable, and request they go back to the drawing board to reconsider their plans and evaluate their intentions.

We must also understand that growth in our sport is a great thing. Consider the many wild adventures and profound relationships that you’ve developed through your own climbing experiences. It’s well documented that recreation outdoors supports public health and wellbeing, not to mention endless economic benefits for local communities. As the AAC reflects on our own history, we’re challenging ourselves to be more inclusive and welcoming to a broader, bigger, and more diverse community of climbers. Welcoming a bigger community of climbers to the outdoors will undoubtedly make our advocacy for access challenging and nuanced, but our community will be more vibrant, rich, and dare I say more politically powerful because of it.

The era we live in as climbers is a unique one and represents a significant departure from the past. With management plans popping up across the country, we have an opportunity to ensure that our climbing areas are properly cared for, that access to these spaces is more equitable, that local Tribes have better opportunities to guide the management of their ancestral lands (there is still much room for improvement), and that the character of these important places continues to offer unique experiences for generations of climbers to come. The great thing is that climbers have done this before. We’ve worked hard to educate each other about respecting culturally sensitive sites, we’ve observed and successfully self enforced raptor closures, and we’ve stewarded the trails and local infrastructure at our climbing areas. We need to carry these successes forward.

Right now, a local climbing organization or AAC chapter in your area can undoubtedly use your help, your unique experience and your voice to protect our climbing areas. Many of these local advocacy groups have developed strong relationships with land managers and are currently assisting them with the management of local crags and public lands. I encourage you to seek out these groups, offer your time and professional expertise, join public meetings with land managers to share your insights, submit substantive comments on management plans, and look for action alerts from national organizations like the Access Fund and American Alpine Club. Through your efforts we may see our climbing areas change in positive ways, like newly graded roads, parking lots, bathrooms and more sustainably built trails — not to mention acknowledgement as an important user group and thought partner in the stewardship of our public lands.

The times are changing, but we don’t have to simply accept it for what it is. We can play a critical role in coming up with creative solutions alongside land managers. Your voice matters: get involved.

The Prescription - September 2021

Photo of Leaning Tower by Meros Felsenmaus

The Prescription - September 2021

Yosemite Valley, Leaning Tower

Two climbers attempting the West Face of Leaning Tower in June decided to descend after arriving at Ahwahnee Ledge (the top of the fourth pitch), due to excessive heat and sun. While rappelling the very overhanging first pitch with the haulbag, Climber A rappelled over a small roof and got too far away from the wall to reach the ledge at the bottom of the pitch, despite clipping some directionals during his descent. (The West Face route is approached by a ramp that traverses onto the face, so the first anchor is far above the ground.) Since the climber could not reach the ramp, he continued rappelling to a lower ledge. This ledge had no permanent anchor, and Climber A was not carrying the right pieces to construct a solid anchor. With no way to anchor the haul bag, he could not detach it from the ropes nor reascend the ropes to reach the ramp.

During their descent, the two climbers had called Yosemite Search and Rescue to request some advice. Climbing rangers were able to assist them over the phone with their first rappels, but soon decided to send SAR members to Leaning Tower in case further assistance was needed. When SAR members arrived, they fixed a rope and lowered it to Climber A, and he was able to leave his haul bag and jumar out. They then secured the team’s rappel ropes to the ledge so the second climber could rappel directly to the approach ramp. The ropes and haulbag were retrieved later that day.

ANALYSIS

The Leaning Tower is one of the steepest big walls in North America, the lower half of which overhangs at an average angle of 110 degrees. The West Face has been the site of numerous rappelling difficulties, and while Climber A did utilize some directionals, he extended one piece with a long runner and soon found himself too far from the cliff to place more directional pieces. (Source: Yosemite National Park Climbing Rangers.)

The report above and the how-to sidebar that follows will appear in the 2021 edition of ANAC, which is being mailed to AAC members this month.

THE ART OF THE BAIL

Rappelling with a Haulbag: Advice from a Yosemite Ranger

Bailing off a steep route is a nearly inevitable outcome if you climb enough walls, so it’s best to know how to get down safely before you find yourself dangling in space, wishing you knew what to do. Yosemite climbing rangers advise the following techniques for rappelling overhanging routes with a haulbag.

(1) The first person descending should rappel on a fixed single strand of the rappel ropes with a Grigri or a similar locking device, clipping both strands of the ropes to directional pieces to keep them close to the wall. They should also carry equipment to reascend the fixed rope in case of getting too far from the wall or rappelling past the anchor.

(2) When the first person arrives at the lower anchor, they should feed out five to ten feet of slack rope, tie a knot with both ropes, and clip the knot to the anchor. This will close the system for the second rappeller and allow the second person to pull themself into the wall to unclip directionals on their way down and to pull into the anchor at the end of the rappel.

(3) The second rappeller should untie the fixed strand from the upper anchor or undo any knot-blocks, and then rappel both strands as normal, using a tube-style device (such as an ATC) and a third-hand backup. They can unclip and clean the directional pieces as they descend. The second person down should carry the team’s heaviest gear (haulbag, etc.), because the tube-style device produces a smoother rappel than a Grigri. They should not have any reason to reascend the ropes because they will be fixed to the lower anchor. —Christian Black, Yosemite National Park Climbing Ranger

ANAC 2021 IS COMING SOON!

Production delays at the printer pushed back the delivery schedule for the new edition of Accidents in North American Climbing, but the books have finally arrived at our mailing house in Denver. Boxes are now being filled and books will start going into the mail and onto retailers’ shelves over the next couple of weeks. Thanks for your patience!

The 2021 Accidents includes a new 15-page section documenting and explaining avalanche incidents involving backcountry skiers and snowboarders. We hope you’ll find it to be a useful addition—let us know what you think at [email protected].

Not yet a member of the American Alpine Club? You can order a print or digital (PDF) copy of the 2021 book at the AAC online store.

ALTITUDE AND VISION SURGERY

Researchers at the University of Washington, University of New Mexico, and the University of Tübingen (Germany) are conducting a research survey to estimate how commonly vision changes occur while traveling to high altitude after vision correction surgery. The goal is to gather information that can help other climbers and trekkers choose the right surgery for them. If you’ve had vision correction surgery and have since traveled to high altitude, you can help by completing an anonymous online survey. Further information about the project and the survey itself can be found by clicking on this link.  

DANGEROUS HAILSTORM IN THE BLACK HILLS

A sudden July storm caught Ed and three other climbers near the top of Waves, a two-pitch route near Mt. Rushmore in the Black Hills of South Dakota. In the face of 50 mph gusts, plunging temperatures, and golf-ball-size hail, getting off the climb was a test of experience, concentration, and teamwork, as you’ll hear in Episode 68 of the Sharp End podcast.

The monthly Prescription newsletter is supported by adidas Outdoor and the members of the American Alpine Club. Questions? Suggestions? Write to us at [email protected].

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AAC Creates Yosemite Timeline with NativesOutdoors

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"Yosemite Valley (Ahwahnee in the language of the Ahwahnechee, who originally inhabited the area) has long been a bastion for American climbing, from the first ascent of the NW Face of Half Dome (Tissaack) to the first free solo of El Cap (Tutocanula). The AAC has been there nearly every step of the complicated (and sometimes dark) way—from guiding the establishment of the park to fighting for climbing as a legitimate use of wilderness in National Parks and advocating for the preservation and 2018 improvements to Camp 4, the iconic climbers' campground."

We've worked with NativesOutdoors to put together this resource for all things Yosemite climbing and history. Check it out below.

Yosemite (Ahwahnee) THROUGH THE YEARS

Yosemite National Park Implements Road and Campground Improvements

Photo: AAC member Andrew Burr

Photo: AAC member Andrew Burr

We're thrilled to see the suggested improvements to Camp 4 that the Club advocated for in the Merced River Plan come to fruition! Climbers, you will have more parking spaces, more campsites, and more bathrooms with showers. Learn more below.

Improvements underway along Northside Drive and Camp 4 Campground

Yosemite National Park is working to implement several roadway and campground improvements within Yosemite Valley. Extensive work is being conducted on Northside Drive, the road leading from Yosemite Village to Yosemite Falls and toward the park exits. Significant work is also being conducted at Camp 4, a popular campground in Yosemite Valley. The current work is expected to be completed bythis winter , and compliments the work that was completed earlier this summer. 

On Northside Drive, work is being done to repave the road and add curbing for safety and resource protection. Work is also being done to realign portions of the road and do some sewer and utility work. The work on this portion of the road is in addition to work completed earlier this year which included a total redesign of the Yosemite Village Parking Area (formerly known as Camp 6), installation of a roundabout, and the repaving of the road from Stoneman Bridge to Yosemite Village. The total cost of the roadwork is approximately $14 million, coming from Federal Highways Administration, and the Recreational Fee Program.

In addition to the benefits of improving traffic flow and delineating visitor parking, the road projects include 1.7 acres of wetland restoration in an ecologically important and sensitive area of Yosemite Valley. The work is part of the implementation of the Merced River Plan, finalized in 2014,  which directs actions that protect the Merced River (a federally designated Wild & Scenic River) and enhances the visitor experience.

Concurrently, significant work is being conducted in and around Camp 4, a popular walk-in campground in Yosemite Valley. Currently, the parking lot is being expanded, bringing the capacity to 130 vehicles.  Either later this fall or in Spring, 2018, 25 campsites are being added (each site can accommodate 6 people) which will bring the total to 57 campsites. A new comfort station is also being constructed in which showers will be included. This will be the first park campground that will provide shower facilities for people staying in the campground.  The total cost of the campground project is approximately $2 million(funded by the Recreational Fee Program) and is expected to be completed in 2018.

All roads within Yosemite Valley and Camp 4 remain open during the construction. There are some lane closures and traffic delays associated with the ongoing work. There will be no active construction in the winter, and projects will resume in Spring 2018.