Independence Day On the Lost Arrow Spire
by SCMA Member Gerry Cox

Where shall I start? It’s a story about the best laid plans, and how they run amok. During the hiatus between the end of school and the start of Summer school, I got baked in Zion (and nearly arrested – another story) and then spanked again in Yosemite. With three days to burn, we decided to try the Lost Arrow Spire – just the tip. Starting out pre-dawn from the Yosemite Falls parking, we discovered eventually that the trail doesn’t lead from there. (Geniuses that we are - Duh!) We spent four hours going from bridal path to unimproved stock trail to steep loose off-trail, only to gain about a thousand feet in Indian Canyon. After we turned around, I fell in steep loose talus with a 45# haul bag, and acquired a minor wrist fracture.

We later discovered the real trail, but determined that we would backpack in from the Tioga Road for the 4^th of July weekend. We secured the necessary Wilderness Permit (for 5) and plans kept hatching from there. We decided to invite additional people to help carry the necessary gear, and to share in the experience. Only experienced aid climbers would be invited, and then a Tyrolean-jugging practice would be staged. Of the twenty people invited, we finished with five, including an unknown quantity who claimed experience on the Prow of Washington Column. Although things seemed to be well-set, an epic had been sown.

I had secured beta and the gear list from Ben Chapman, who’s been on the Spire six times. This was typed up and sent to all of the members of our party. Only two showed for the practice, but I figured that the jugging wouldn’t be difficult for those with such previous experience. I couldn’t have been much more wrong than that. I carry a small Gumby with me as a totem when I’m recovering from injury. I’m also a relative "Gumby" in comparison to others who are climbing aid on a constant basis. I’ve climbed enough recovering from injury now, that Gumby has climbed in more places than many healthy climbers have, like, Devil’s Tower, the Palisades, Zion and Yosemite. As we eventually found out, our "Prow" partner was still a little ball-of-clay-Gumby, unformed as an aid climber. Owning the gear doesn’t qualify you as a wall rat.

We hiked in about 5 miles from Porcupine Creek and set up camp at the high point of the trail. To get to the Spire involved a half-hour downhill approach. I set up practice Saturday night to make sure that everyone could safely bypass a knot en rappel. Although everyone managed this in ground school, our "Prow" partner could not do it when suspended from the side of a rock. I told everyone to honestly evaluate their skills and knowledge, and withdraw from the project if they couldn’t perform all of the skills cold, without coaching or assistance. Only one backed out; It wasn’t the "Prow" partner. An alternative plan was set up to do two rappels, so that only the last one down would have to rappel past the knot. That evening, our "Prow" member was caught pouring the juice out of canned chicken in the campsite (in bear habitat, no less). Absolutely erudite, this one was.

Sunday started with a 5:30 AM wake-up call in order to practice jugging a steep Tyrolean, as we would encounter on the Spire. Again, one had to be instructed on how to set up their harness, Jumars and daisy chains. Involving a pulley in such an effort was simply mind-boggling. Additionally, this member had never received a copy of the personal gear list, and so had only one locking ‘biner (one locking ‘biner is satisfactory for most walls, right?), a BD Superlock (Ptooey!). Again asked to withdraw because of doubtful performance of the requisite skills, this member assured me that everything was well within control, and not a problem.

We made the approach, rigged the long rappel and I started down at 8:30 AM. It took over 2 hours for the party of four to rap the 275’ to the Notch. We quickly discovered that the climb has been retro-bolted as a sport route, with two belay stances being removed in the process. We still climbed it as four short pitches, but it is no longer do-able as 5.5/A2, unless you carry a cheat stick (we did). Without a cheat stick, the route is 5.10/A2, and most of the heads and bashies are now gone. The upper half of the route faces Yosemite Falls and has beautiful exposure. The water falling is atomized into plumes of spray, and provides a cool respite from the heat of direct sun. Swinging leads, the first topped out at 6:15 PM.

By the time we got everyone on top and across the Tyrolean, it was very late. Our "Prow" partner had spent 1.5 hours setting up and making the traverse. The pulley kept binding on the ascender, and the knot in the second rope with the back-up sling couldn’t be passed. First, our im"Prow"ficient partner couldn’t/wouldn’t pull down the sling to re-clip past the knot. Next, opening the Superlock (Ptooey!) to loose the sling couldn’t be managed. My temper had become short and I was terse. When instructed to carefully cut the sling (my Spectra double) away from the ropes, this member carried no knife. Orders were barked, and one was sent down from the rim. I was so pissed off. Skills and experience had been falsely represented, and that lack of integrity was costing time, daylight, warmth and the obligatory Tyrolean photo-op. My patience was worn thin, but we had a couple of good belly-laughs stuck out on the Spire. As vengeance against the one having extended the invitation to our im"Prow"ficient member, we burned the last frames of his disposable camera doing "stupid-climber tricks" atop the Spire. I did my fountain imitation. It must have been influenced by the running water of Yosemite Falls.

Left as the last one standing, I found peaceful solitude in the night. I rigged a static rope left by a gentleman from Mammoth, who was setting up for a friend soloing the Lost Arrow Direct. I started across the Tyrolean and hit a rhythm quickly. As I did, I turned out my headlamp for the rest of the crossing. Lights from the valley below dimly illuminated one side of the pinnacle. The sky was clear and the stars beautiful with no moon. As I looked from the lit side of the formation into the Notch and the chimney behind, it was truly an abyss. I returned to the rim at 10:30 PM, cold and tired. Our "Prow" partner steered clear of me, to avoid incurring any further wrath.

We returned to camp, had dinner, drank a little bottle of bubbly and then fired bottle rockets over Indian Canyon toward North Dome. We crashed at 1:00 AM with a 3:30 AM wake-up call in order to get one of our party back to Orange County by 5:00 PM. We hiked out in the dark and got back with only minor automotive problems. The hammer we carried to set heads was broken in by punching holes in the mufflers to let them breathe past the accumulated rust that obscured the exhaust. It was only fitting. One member commented that it was funny to have seen me so pissed off for so long. I told him that I had withheld some of my temper because it wouldn’t have been sporting to figuratively hit someone when they’re down. It would have pushed incompetence past hysteria and right into panic.

There were lessons to be re-learned in all of this, like, "Don’t climb with incompetent partners". If I hadn’t offered the two-rappel system to our "Prow" partner, the knot would never have been passed, and they’d have remained on the rim. I kidded myself that this partner wasn’t dangerous, even if incompetent. (I could have been wrong.) It was on objective that I wanted to attain badly, and that controlled my judgment.

I have made up a current gear list and revised the beta for anyone who seriously wants to climb this. In a follow-up conversation with Ben, he expressed that he’s done the same benighted late exit thing. My thanks are to him for the beta and gear list, and to Grant for explaining the pulley/jug system that worked so well for this. In that integrity is so much of climbing, I will never tie into a rope with our "Prow" partner again. My loss, I suppose.

"And now I found these fancies creating their own realities, and all imagined horrors crowding upon me in fact. I felt my knees strike violently together, while my fingers were gradually but certainly relaxing their grasp. And now I was consumed with the irrepressible desire of looking below. I could not, I would not, confine my glances to the cliff; and, with a wild, indefinable emotion, half of horror, half of a relieved oppression, I threw my vision far down into the abyss. For one moment my fingers clutched convulsively upon their hold, while, with the movement, the faintest possible idea of ultimate escape wandered, like a shadow, through my mind – in the next my whole soul was pervaded with a longing to fall." - Edgar Allen Poe

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