The next pitch was 5.13b, very slabby and sharp — it reminded me of Lurking Fear. Doing it first try would be critical to saving my skin for the rest of the climb. I balanced my way from razor blade to razor blade and concentrated on keeping myself steady. I knew that the slightest shake would cause a foot or hand to slip. Beth and Adam were silent while I climbed; the only noise I heard was my own breathing. I slowly crept from hold to hold and after nearly an hour arrived at the anchor.
I had completed half the hard climbing for the day and it was only ten in the morning. I was excited, but also knew that I would not be as fresh in the afternoon, not to mention the days to come. I knew that I was going to put my body and mind through incredible stress the next few days.
The next pitch was the Black Arch, a 200-foot arching crack and is one of the most striking features on El Cap. The sun hit the wall just as I started up. Usually for me this means the end of the climbing day, but the cool temps, along with a breeze, kept the conditions good.
I felt a bit hesitant, and slipped off after about twenty feet — my first fall of the route. I rested ten minutes, pulled my rope, and tried again. This time I pumped out after thirty feet. Figuring I had not rested long enough, Adam set up the portaledge and I rested for half an hour. “I can’t believe you are still trying to climb. Normally you melt when the sun hits you,” Beth said, trying to cheer me up.
Next try I made it about thirty-five feet, then pumped out again. I started to worry if I had this in me. I rested for about forty minutes, pulled the rope again, and went for it, desperately managing to climb to the first rest, forty feet up. My confidence was totally shot. For the next hour and a half, Beth and Adam pumped me with encouragement. “Try hard Tommy, you can do it!” they would yell up at me, but in my head, I told myself, “Don’t be such a pansy, just suck it up and climb.”
I slowly crept up the arch, resting for long periods whenever I could. I made sure my feet were placed perfectly and my movement was exact. I felt like a sloth moving up the wall. Just as Beth and Adam were about to fall asleep I reached the anchor. Completely exhausted, I fixed the rope and waited for them to arrive.
I only had one more pitch to go before the comfy bivy ledge with all of our stuff, but it was the second-hardest pitch of the climb. I was in pain, my toes were throbbing, and there was blood seeping from underneath three of my fingernails.
I pulled out of the Black Arch into a series of underclings and sidepulls separated by gaps I could barely connect with the span of my arms. The pitch defied all free-climbing logic — it is the only slab I have ever climbed that maxed both my finger strength and arm power. I wrestled from feature to feature, pushing the pain to the back of my mind, and arrived at the hardest single move of the climb, a six-foot gap, blank except for a single shallow divot. Glad for the countless hours I’d spent bouldering in the Valley, I gritted my teeth, pulled hard, and stretched for the divot. Matching one finger at a time in the divot and hopping my feet to higher smears, I began to fade. In a panic I slapped a sloper above. My feet slid out from under me as I matched. I smeared my feet high, sagged back on my arms, and dynoed with my last ounce of energy. My fingertips tagged the edge of the jug above — and I was off.