Trips home to visit Beth mainly consisted of sleep and food. “What’s wrong with you?” she would ask, but deep inside she knew.
Returning to the Valley meant starting up my workhorse schedule again. At the end of each day I would stagger to the car, then try to repair my various wounds. I’d shove food down my throat as quickly as possible, usually cold burritos or sometimes just a PowerBar. I would find a place to sleep and pass out as soon as my head hit the pillow. On a few occasions I fell asleep sitting straight up while cooking dinner, only to be rousted by the rangers telling me I could not sleep there.
The Dihedral raised my tolerance for pain and frustration. It also gave me great satisfaction. I was living each day to its absolute fullest. I was working toward a very definite goal and it was bringing me to a new level in my climbing. It may sound weird, but normally Yosemite makes me weak. I usually return home unable to do the most basic power problems or sport climbs. The huge days, endless cracks, and lack of powerful moves turn me into a 5.12 sport climber without fail. But the Dihedral Wall kept me strong. On rainy days in the gym I was stronger than I had been before the Valley season. Bouldering in the afternoons left me with a smile on my face because I was able to run laps on hard problems like Thriller and The Force.
It became obvious that this route would be a huge step above anything I had climbed. It was absurdly sustained. Most of the existing hard free routes on El Cap had only a few 5.13 pitches, but of the first fifteen pitches of the Dihedral, one was 5.14, one 5.13d, three 5.13c, three 5.13b, and four 5.12. On top of that, these pitches were sustained. I had to really concentrate from the start to the end of each pitch — none were one-move wonders.
A month into the project, Adam Stack joined me. The scene on the wall completely changed. He was fresh off a free ascent of the Salathé Wall and flying higher than ever. We spent hours on our portaledge together, laughing and telling jokes while talking about how lucky we were to be here, the most amazing place on the planet, working on such an incredible climb. With Adam, there was never more than ten minutes without laughter. He would claim that if he “squatted” in one place long enough he could own it, taking the Homestead Act of 1862 to a new level. (I had to break it to him that I doubted the Act applied in National Parks or El Cap, and that it had expired in 1976.) Whenever he would free a move or pitch for the first time he would say, “Do you smell something? Oh yeah, I’m the shit!” Adam’s energy transformed the effort and helped push me even harder.
After another month, the route started to come together. I could link long sections of pitches, then entire pitches, and soon I had toproped most of the hard climbing. I had originally thought of this as a recon season, since Beth was out of commission. Now, with the perfect weather and the amount of climbing I was doing, I was fitting several seasons into a couple of months.
I developed a plan of attack, and picked a style for my ascent. Climbers spend countless hours debating style in an attempt to establish a social pecking order, and honestly it reminds me of the reasons I did not like high school. I decided to avoid hanging belays and climb from stance to stance, in a continuous ascent from the ground, because it was the best style I thought I could pull off. I believe people should always strive to do climbs in the best style they think possible, but never criticize others for what they choose to do. El Cap is for having fun and having an adventure, not having fights and criticizing others — which does nothing but boost egos and show disrespect for the other people who share your same passion. As long as you are not harming the rock or the route for future ascents, and you are honest about what you have done and your style, you should be able to climb in whatever fashion you want.
Beth’s foot was finally out of the cast, and she was now at her parents’ house in Davis, only a three-hour drive away. When I told her I thought I could do the route, she offered to come along as belayer. On the wall she wore one normal approach shoe and one big mountain boot to protect her injured foot. It looked like she couldn’t decide whether to go running or alpine climbing. Adam also volunteered to help out. I would have been completely astonished by their generosity if I hadn’t seen it so many times before. They gave the moral, emotional, and physical support that would be as crucial to my effort on the Dihedral as any aspect of my climbing. Beth laughed off the sacrifice by assuring me that she could miss a few episodes of “Trading Spaces,” and Adam was up for a few good days of jumaring and jokes.
Three days before we were to start, Adam and I hauled five days worth of supplies to the top of pitch nine. This prep day would allow us to climb without hauling for the first two days.
As everything fell into place I felt an increasing sense of excitement. Something started to grow inside me — my heart rate increased and I spent the nights tossing and turning, rehearsing the climb in my head. When should I start? How fast did I need to climb? How many times could I fall before running out of energy? I visualized the moves and gear placements over and over again: blue, then purple, then baby yellow. I was excited about the prospect of success and frightened of failure. So much was invested.