The Fellowship of Half Dome

Andrew walking on the sub dome to the base of the cables. The band of lighter color on the rock marks the route to the Half Dome summit.

Psychology Experiment:

1.     Suspend two cables on a fearsome slope of rock, climbing hundreds of feet to an exposed vista —thousands of feet above the valley and completely at the mercy of the elements.

2.     Let it be known that climbing said route is unsafe and unadvised, at least not until the end of May when the cables go up on posts and the route opens for tourists with permits.

3.     See who shows up.

We showed up.

There was a good breeze blowing over the sub-dome when Andrew and I got to the top of the steps and threw our backpacks off in the shelter of a boulder.

We had already hiked up three of trail from our campsite at Little Yosemite Valley that morning. The final, crucial step of our journey to the 8,800-foot summit of Half Dome dangled right in front of us: twin sets of cables bolted into the rock slope, extending for hundreds of feet above our heads until they disappeared over the lip of the slope.

The funny thing was that we weren’t really supposed to go up those cables. On that mid-May morning, the coiled steel lifelines were still in their winter position. When they went up on their posts later that month, they would form two convenient banisters for the tourists lucky enough to get permits to go up to the summit. The winter position meant that the cables were laid flat against the rock, lowering the risk that an avalanche would rip them out. If we went up now, we would have to lift the heavy steel ourselves and clamber up with only one cable in our hands.

The guidebooks had told us not to come at this time of year — at least if we didn’t have experience climbing “big walls” (no, we didn’t.) We had asked the park rangers about the cables, and they told us that they were down. This was technically correct since they were not up on their posts. No one had taken them off the mountain though, which was not the impression I got from talking to the rangers. It wasn’t until I talked to some climbers in our camp that I learned that the cables were still there, just less convenient to use.

On the hike up to the sub-dome, Andrew and I passed a family from North Carolina that was set on doing the climb. One gentleman, whose long hair was tied behind a red bandana had just been in a four-wheeler accident not too long before (typical redneck) and had just gotten out of his back brace.

We hiked ahead of them for a little while, then ran across a group of guys and girls, who looked to be in their twenties and were on their way down.

They recommended that we keep our feet perpendicular to the slope and grip the cable tug-of-war style. We would have to lift the cable off the mountain ourselves, but there would be a couple of places where we could put it down and rest. Also, did we have gloves?

They handed us their white cotton gardening gloves with rubber grips. Without them, the cables would rip up our hands, they said. Then North Carolinians came across our powwow.

“Hey, the girls could do it. Now you have to go up there!” one of them told us.

Andrew and I hiked ahead again, then stopped for lunch at the base of the cables. Two middle-aged men and an older guy were looking up the route. Would they do it?

I could catch snippets of their conversation through the wind. The two middle-aged guys sounded a little doubtful. After about 10 minutes of discussion, one of them started up the cable. The other one waited behind, and then followed on the way up behind his friend. They climbed with slow, deliberate movements, keeping the cable between their legs, as they pulled themselves up.

About 50-feet up, the two came to a stop. They were having a conversation again. I clearly made out the words “going down,” and then they began a cautious descent to the bottom. As soon as they got below the cables, one of the guys leaned back against a boulder and stared back up at the route above his head.

The oldest guy, who had waited at the bottom, grabbed hold of a cable and started climbing.

 Andrew and I finished our sandwiches and walked over. The guy who had just come down was still looking up the mountain. He told me that while he and his friend were going up, one of the two had pointed out that the higher they went, the longer they would have to climb down. Once that thought was planted, it had poisoned their courage. Now he was thinking about whether he should go up again.

As I talked with him, Andrew grabbed hold of a cable and started the climb. Well, that’s one way to do it. I put the gloves on and started scrambling after.

The rubber grips felt firm against the cable. I felt the weight in my forearms, heavy, but manageable. My boot soles had a decent purchase on the rock.

This wasn’t too bad, I told myself, simultaneously deciding that there was absolutely no way that I was looking down. I wasn’t going to think about how much further I would need to come down each time I steeped up.

I took a quick rest at about 30 feet up. If I just thought about keeping my hands on the cable and feet on the rock, there was no reason that I shouldn’t be able to do this. It was the sudden realization of fear that I had to watch out for. If I let myself lose my chill, I could seize up, and then it could get ugly. I needed to be dispassionate and not let my focus wander beyond five feet of me.

The climb included a couple of ledges for us to clamber over. I had to step up about knee-high, while going up the 45-degree pitch, taking care not to lose my grip on the cable.

The climb got a little steeper for a while, with new ledges. There were also places where the cable would end and a new one would begin, requiring me to switch hand-holds in order to grab the next one.

After climbing another hundred feet or so, I reached the point where the slope lessened and the cable ended. I walked upright for the last bit of the climb.

I could look out over miles of valley from the summit. There were the white waterfalls cascading from impossible heights. El Capitan stood to the west, aspiration for many steely-nerved rock climbers.

The older guy who had gone before us was already at the summit.

“Did you leave your pack down there?” he asked. “The squirrels have learned to open zippers.” Then again, he said, sometimes they just chewed right through the pack fabric.

I had in fact left my pack down there, because I didn’t want to make the climb with extra weight on my back. I made a mental note to get down soon.

Andrew and I at the summit

Larry, on his 35th ascent

Dave reached the summit, despite turning back the first time he went up the cables

His name was Larry. He’d spent his 67 years living near Yosemite climbing rock walls, taking on mountains and going backcountry skiing. He guessed that he’d been up Half Dome 35 times, including in the off-season, and up some of the traditional climbing routes. Looking out over the land, he was ale to point out the different features, and recount different adventures he’d had in those places.

Soon, I heard voices, and looked around to see the two guys who had turned back earlier. They looked flushed, but exultant.

It had only been three years since the guy named Dave had gone through a heart transplant. He said, he felt like he owed it to the 18-year-old whose heart now beat in Dave’s chest, to live well. He showed us the bracelet he wore with the young man’s name. It had been a heroin overdose that killed him. Dave admitted that he hadn’t exactly been comfortable with the climb, but it felt good to prove to himself that he was doing something with his new lease on life.

Andrew descending Half Dome by the cable

No sooner had Dave finished the story then we heard a rebel war whoop. It was the North Carolinians. The guy who had been in a back brace wanted us to get a picture of him up there, proof for what he could hardly believe himself. There were no hard feelings about The War of Northern Aggression today. It was high-fives all around. Everyone seemed delirious, maybe not quite believing that they were at the summit. It was hard not to feel a charge, being up here, a connection to everyone in the group. Everyone had shown a bit of chutzpa going up the cables. Even then, we were all knew we would have to lean back over the edge and go back the way we came.

Dave and his friend went down first, then the North Carolinians, then Larry. Andrew and I waited to give them all a head start, then clambered down to the cables, braced our feet against the stone and began the decent — hand over hand. 

The long view