Blog

Diamond Free Solo

• July 2007
• Training Uncategorized

Climbers on the Casual Route, from Chasm View

I first climbed the Longs Peak Diamond when I was about twenty-two, with a few years of rock climbing experience, and none in the mountains. I remember hiking up the trail in the dark, with my friend Craig Luebben. The time slid by faster in the darkness, as we made our way through the steep, canopied pine forest. As we rose above tree line, with another hour or so to go, I was dazzled by the starry night above. Stars started falling, one after another, so I could barely keep my eyes on the rocky trail, stumbling as I tried to keep the pace and watch stars drop through the black sky.

Craig and I climbed the Casual Route, the standard route on the Diamond. Even the “standard route” was a significant undertaking—requiring us to hike up to the base of the Diamond, at about 12,000 feet altitude, in the dark, then climb unroped together up the North Chimney. Easy climbing, but about 600 feet of free solo terrain, having to watch out for loose or wet rocks, and with a few sections that were surprisingly steep. Then we were on Broadway ledge—a long slopey outcrop that splits the Diamond. You can walk around safely, but you could also slip off and fall.

After all this, we started the actual route—many pitches of steep vertical crack climbing and face traversing up the sometimes slick-feeling pink and gray granite. I remember struggling up chimneys, and fighting hard through the bulging 10a crux section. When we finished the route at Table Ledge, and scrambled up the final several hundred feet to the summit, we stood at about 14,000 feet. The air was thinner, adding to the fatigue, and we still had a long way to go down, descending the north face of Longs, and picking our way down and over talus slopes and boulder fields, back to the steep rocky trail we had walked in the dark. On the way down, I saw thick clumps of purple and white columbines, light-tipped pine shrubs, and granite steps of all colors. It was one of the most beautiful places I had ever been. I was exhausted for days after our climb, and elated. I had never experienced a climbing day so big, or so demanding. I wanted more. I wanted to understand this kind of climbing, and know this place.

Over the next few years, I spent days living at the base of the Diamond, in a rock shelter, climbing different routes with different friends. I grew more comfortable with the Diamond, and became intimately familiar with the landscape—where to get water, the descent routes, the easiest path up the North Chimney. The mandatory alpine starts—to get off the face and the summit before summer afternoon storms—became less painful.
Those summers on the Diamond led me on to bigger things, and the next years brought trips to the Karakorum, Baffin, and Kyrgyzstan, and then to a time when I was obsessed with El Cap free climbing, spending my summers on the Captain.

At certain moments, things seem to come full circle. This summer, I returned to the Diamond, and was filled with emotion when I went up there a week ago to climb the scrambley alpine route, Kieners. I wanted to have a training day, and check out the conditions up there. I couldn’t believe how much shorter and less strenuous the trail seemed now, twelve years later. The crisp smell of water and pine, and the sound of the rushing stream over rocks made me smile as I walked. I remembered individual trees and rocks along the way. The Diamond was as beautiful as I remembered—a giant kite-like face, blended with pale green, gray, beige and pink, set into a valley of snow, boulders and clear water. I finished Kieners early in the morning, and spent the afternoon in Boulder, wishing I was still up there.

A few days later, I met a skydiver at the drop zone. Like many of the jumpers I meet, Jacob is a climber. I talked to him a little, and asked him if he would climb the Diamond with me. Jacob turned out to be a delightful partner—unafraid of alpine starts, strong, efficient and fun. We walked up to the Diamond together last Tuesday, but had to turn right back around at the base when the clouds rushed in at 5 am. On Friday, we hiked up again, and this time I carried bivy gear in my pack. We climbed the Casual Route together, cruising smoothly, enjoying the perfect granite and the vertical cracks. At 11:30 am, we were back at the bivy cave below the Diamond, and Jacob left. I had decided to free solo the route, but I knew I needed to be safe by taking the time to climb it roped first to make sure the cracks weren’t wet inside, and to make sure I remembered which way it went. Jacob had helped me out, by climbing it with me, and making the day smooth and fun.

I napped in the cave, sleeping off the alpine start, and gazing out at the rocky ridgelines in the distance. I made some instant miso soup and rice noodles, listened to music, and set my clock for 3 a.m. I went to sleep, feeling tired, yet full of excitement. I could hardly wait for morning to come.

At 2:59, I woke up and checked the time—seconds later, the alarm rang. I woke up leisurely, making espresso and ginger tea. Since it was Saturday, I knew I had to get an early start up North Chimney, to make sure no one was above me. At 4, I picked up my rock shoes and chalk bag and two Mojo bars, and started slowly up the snow towards the base of the North Chimney. I didn’t want to carry anything on the route, so I sat below the chimney in the dark, planning to start up the rock at first light. Two climbers approached, and told me they were going for the Casual Route. So I started up the chimney in the dark.

At dawn, I sat on Broadway. It was colder than I like, since it was so early, but I started up the first pitch at 5:30 to get some separation from the other parties. The sun felt good, and after the long traverse pitch, I stopped at a big ledge to rub my feet and get some feeling back into them. Being cold made me a little more nervous than I wanted to feel, and I was actually a little sore from climbing the route the day before, and all the rope work of belaying my partner and then rappelling the route. But it felt great to be up there, light and free now, with only rock shoes and a chalkbag. I climbed slowly, making sure every move was solid and secure. As I warmed up, the climbing felt easier and more fluid. The long dihedral pitch, full of hand jams and finger locks was as enjoyable as climbing can be. I noticed other parties around, to my right on Chasm Wall, to my left on the Diamond, and down below. It was a perfect Diamond day, with crisp air, blue sky, and puffy clouds moving in already.

I was warm and relaxed as I reached the crux pitch, but surprised myself by feeling a flash of fear as I stood in the bulging section, one hand in a hand jam, feet stemmed out a little. I reached high for a side pull with one hand, making sure the other was securely jammed. Fear crossed my mind again, and I felt my heart beat faster. I realized I needed to move, get back onto vertical ground, and get over this section. So I did, and got higher to the safety of big holds. I wasn’t expecting to feel any fear, and was kind of unhappy that I had for a few seconds, but I had made it through. It’s interesting soloing—some days everything is relaxed and easy, and other days it can be more edgy. Starting the route in a hurry, with cold hands and cold feet, had made relaxing more difficult for me on the lower pitches—and that had caught up with me just then on the crux. I breathed out, and kept climbing to the final traverse, and then to Table Ledge. It was only 7:45.

I retrieved the running shoes I had stashed there the day before, with Jacob, and headed up the south ridge, on easy rock over the top of the Diamond. I was feeling a little shellshocked as I slowly walked up the Staircase to the top of Longs–it had happened so fast, but I had just lived one of my greatest dreams. I felt numb yet vibrant, looking at the mountains all around, feeling a stream of thoughts, emotions and memories washing through me as I walked slowly across the top of the Diamond, to the north face.

At Chasm View, I looked out at the sheer face of the Diamond, and at the parties still halfway up the wall. The clouds were turning grey, and building. I hopped from boulder to boulder, across the ridge, past the Camel, and down the gully to my bivy cave.