From the Archive: Half Dome

From the Archive: Half Dome

Tom Evans is the most prolific chronicler of climbing in Yosemite this century. 
 
Starting in 2009, Evans wrote the ElCap Report for 14 years, to the tune of nearly 1,000 posts (plus 7,000 photos). His near-daily updates during peak climbing season documented ascents in real time, including Caldwell and Jorgeson’s FA of the Dawn Wall and Honnold’s 2017 free solo climb of El Cap.
 
Today, we feature Evans’ article from the May 1973 issue of Summit. On the one hand, it’s a fragmented retelling of climbing the Northwest Face of Half Dome with George Homer in 1970 (when this 2,000-foot batholith was still a frontier in the sport), but it’s also a foreshadowing of his commitment to recording making. Or as he puts it, the “lingering moment[s] of hopes and dreams.” 

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Half Dome

By Tom Evans

Mostly it’s a collection of memories, then somehow I am there and it’s eight miles along quiet trails, then down snow and rock. For a long moment we stand, George Homer and I, hot, sweaty heads bent back, straining upward at a trillion tons of granite, two thousand feet high. Half Dome. A moment—a lingering moment of hopes and dreams, of hours and days behind desks, under top ropes, on bolt ladders, practicing, running, and always my thoughts return to this spot.

As shadows lengthen we climb upward, relaxed in the evening glow. Three pitches, then down to long hours of restless sleep. Full moon over the top — 2 a.m. I wake George. He questions my sanity and quickly falls back to sleep. Perhaps my English companion and I are as different as we are alike. Morning light brings life and desire. Cold, deep shadows cut by a long, thin strand leading up 250 feet. The climb comes to life. Pins clank, slings flap, ’biners snap, hammers pound. We grope and jerk, swing and pull. We are climbing well and by 2 p.m. arrive at the ledge I bivouacked on last year. How clear the memory. I tell George of searing heat, thirst, exhaustion and the escape route. He listens, mildly interested. It’s different now. We continue upward and I lead a wonderful pitch up an expanding flake to a bolt ladder leading to a pendulum right. George goes up and right on bad pins. We arrive at the bivy ledge. We eat and look out from our fortress, finally we sleep. The night is cold, clear, and moonlit. At morning we go upward.

The cold shadows see me peer into the teeth of the 5.9 squeeze chimney. Not today, Royal. I go left, nailing a perfect crack up to a short pendulum leading to the base of the famous undercling pitch. George goes up, jamming and liebacking and gets into the chimney above. The notorious overhanging squeeze chimney has been in the back of my mind for a long time. I start the chimney — it’s soaking wet and tight. I can hardly move. Exhale, shove and squirm, slip and block. Salt taste, eyes burn, knickers tear. Soon a ledge and no doubts, we are going up this wall. George goes up sharp jams to a ramp. Loose blocks, dirt, Psyche Flake was here. The Big Sandy Ledges welcome George. I come through and start the first Zig-Zag pitch. Tired, late afternoon, great nailing, huge clouds building in the high country. Strange sounds float around us — like voices. Yes, someone is up there, hanging over the Great Visor. Norris yells, then McCrum. Spirits rise and we yell back, joking. No, we won’t be up today, 6 pitches left. I finish the pitch and descend. Windy face — cold, we eat and talk. Nice ledge. We doze, sleep, then it’s too cold so we just wait.

Dawn and up the long, strenuous Zig-Zags to Thank God Ledge. George crosses, muttering and groaning, then I come up and see why. The ledge is fantastically exposed and very narrow. I crawl, heart pounding, sweating, until it’s too narrow, then swing down on hands and traverse. George tries several times to climb an awkward crack and finally succeeds. I go straight left as the rope pulls out a pin I just stood on. Bolts and tied blades lead up to the base of the Visor. It is very windy and cold so we dump the water and go down and left on a long, easy traverse. Last pitch, cake, 5.6 friction; two friends waiting on top. I step up a few feet and we are on top. Smiles, handshakes, beer, a thick Liverpool accent and warm sunlight are fused to the top of Half Dome.

Down the cables, more friends, trees and paths, swelling hands and aching muscles are the way down. The mist trail is mine as I linger to enjoy its wetness. Shoes come off with help and soon a warm embrace with love is the end.

Later as night approaches, I wander out alone to look, and already I try to remember what it was like. Somehow, it’s different now and I wonder as I look — have I been there?

 

The May/June 1985 Cover

Tom Evans starting the Traverse Pitches on El Capitan. Photo by Graham Sanders.


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Feature image: Evans coming up to the last belay on the 3D in the summer of 1983. Photo by Graham Sanders.

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