I finally decided that I'd had enough and that I had to do something about it.  The problem had started with Mike Graham's "Ancient Gold” and “You Can Always Go Back” trip reports and these feelings had become increasingly stronger with each new read. What was bothering me was that they were making me jealous that Mike was climbing at Suicide and I wasn't.  

I grew up climbing in Idyllwild, seizing every possible opportunity to immerse myself in its routes.  Many were the days of school ditched, and the spontaneous last minute late afternoon sprints from Redlands with just enough time to get in one route – but only if we drove like maniacs.  I couldn't get enough of its climbing or its history and I soaked in as much as I could about the routes and the people who had done them.  I also came to appreciate the place for its beauty; the mountains, the glow on Tahquitz at sunset, the changing forest of fall, and the abundant red snow plants of spring, to name just a few.  Additionally, some of my best friends in life are the partners I've climbed with there.  It seems impossible to separate those people from the place. If I think about Idyllwild I think about them, and if I think about them I always seem to be drawn back to the times we were in Idyllwild. 

I moved away from Southern California a little over 10 years ago.  At the time it didn't seem like a big deal not being able to climb in Idyllwild.  I had done virtually everything I had an interest in doing, and had repeated many routes so many times that they had lost their luster.  In fact, before I moved I was rarely climbing there anymore, always choosing to go elsewhere even though it was only an hour’s drive away from where I lived. 

When I read the Valhalla TR all the old feelings came flooding back and it was almost as if I was there with Mike and Ian.  I could clearly visualize the sequence they were probably using, I could feel the sharp bite of the small holds, and see the line of bolts drawing me upward.  I could feel the coolness of the late afternoon shade on the Sunshine Buttress, see the outstanding mixed colors of the rock on the second pitch, and see the old decaying log on the ledge.  I could sense what they must have been experiencing, the doubts, the intensity of the action, and the satisfaction of success.  Suddenly I realized that 15 years had passed since I had done most of the Suicide routes.  I quickly arrived at the conclusion that I had been away too long.  It was time to climb there again and to experience routes like Valhalla once more.

The thought of hooking up with Mike appealed to me.  Mike had been a member of the FA party of some of the most memorable routes I had done in my early years at Suicide.  Routes that I definitely wanted to repeat and routes that I knew he wouldn't be able to resist doing once more.  What could be better than getting to repeat historic routes with a member of the FA party I asked myself?  I would be able to get a first hand recounting of what the first ascents had been like and possibly even add some more tidbits of knowledge to what I already knew, we'd be able to try and outdo each other with tall tales about BITD, and best of all, we’d both be able to experience the routes again.  Even though Mike and I have never really climbed together much I sent Mike an email asking if he would be interested, and concluded it with "maybe we could even pretend we were back in the day and do New Gen".

As I was hoping, Mike couldn't resist the bait.  We finalized plans, picking a weekend and agreeing that New Generations was the primary route of choice, with the other routes being open.  Without saying anything I was already planning to try and make the “other routes” as many of Mike's FA's as we possible could.

New Generations was my first choice for many reasons.  First there was the climbing itself.  The Gen is a classic example of thin Suicide slab climbing, in particular the first two pitches; on the first pitch a little lower angle but with a tricky high step or two, and on the second pitch the holds get even smaller and the rock even steeper forcing the climber into more powerful, more precise, and longer sequences.  And the rock quality, well, it can hardly get any better than solid dimes on glistening white, gray, and black granite. 

Second, there were Mike’s TRs and what they embodied.  I, like many others, had been captured by Mike’s accounts of doing routes with Ian.  It was plain to see his pride and joy at having done climbs with his son, climbs that were obviously meaningful to him.  And it seemed special to me that Ian was interested in repeating those routes with his dad, gaining an appreciation for what dad had done when he was younger.  The route name just seemed to be such a perfect fit for what had unfolded in those trip reports. 

New Generations.  The name implies the passing/surpassing of one generation by another.  The name as originally applied by Mike did smack a little of come-uppance because the torch had been snatched away from the older generation instead of waiting for it to be passed.  But there could also be another meaning to the name.  I couldn’t help but see the obvious, that if Mike did it with Ian it would be the Old Generations and the New Generations of the Graham family together on the route.  A play on the name that I think it’s safe to say Mike had never dreamt of when he came up with it.  Given the routes significance in Suicide history it seemed to me that this was the one route they really should do together, and maybe with a little push they would

And last, there was what the route meant to each of us individually.   When Mike and Tobin (ages sixteen and seventeen) did the route it was a major break-through that advanced the standards to a new level.  The route had previously been attempted, and abandoned by the “old” generation climbers, who, discouraged by the difficulties they had encountered had dubbed the ledge at the end of pitch one as “No Go Ledge”.  The combination of the single bolt that led to nowhere at the start of the second pitch combined with the defeatist name and what it implied was more of a challenge than Mike and Tobin could resist. 

Knowing that the route would involve thin edging with at least one difficult bolt stance Mike decided to try the route wearing Calcare boots.  The old Calcare boots had a steel shank in them and were capable of edging on virtually anything/nothing, and to improve their poor friction ability Mike had resoled them with PA smooth soles.  So, armed with the best shoes for the job, Mike and Tobin set out on a recon of the second pitch.

Much to Mike’s surprise he quickly dispatched the “No Go” moves above the first bolt on the second pitch with little difficulty.  The remainder of the pitch eased off significantly and presented less challenge, assuring their success.  After finishing the second pitch they even managed to find an independent line for a third pitch and with that they completed what was at the time the hardest route of its kind.

Riding the high of his success Mike left calling cards in each of the bolt hangers, Ski Mart business cards with his name on each one.  (What I would give to have one of those cards!).  And then there was the name they chose for the route.  But as arrogant as it seemed, it couldn’t be refuted, the new generation had arrived and started making its mark.

When Mike did the route he realized a couple of things.  One, never say never.  The “No Go” name had shown him that the perceived impossible may in fact be possible.  And second, the route had showed him a glimpse of what his potential could be.  That knowledge gleaned from that ascent would be used in the future as he continued to push standards.

For me, there has always been a special connection to the route.  My good friend Bobby and I had started climbing at Suicide slightly later than the core Stonemaster group.  It seemed that we were always chasing them, watching what they did, and aspiring to do their latest routes.  We also were young and energetic, driven by the same love of climbing and just as ignorant of our bounds as they were.

It was only logical then that we would want to repeat New Gen.  Bobby and I did the 3rd ascent of the route, and the first continuous ascent of all three pitches.  To me the route served to show that I could indeed do the hardest routes, and that I was becoming a Stonemaster peer instead of just chasing them. It was as if a door had been opened, and all I had to do was walk through it.  The route made me feel just like Mike had, that the sky could be the limit if I just pushed hard enough and was never willing to say never.

The day that Bobby and I did the route was special, and it was made even more special by seeing Mike that same day.  As we were walking down we unexpectedly met Mike coming up the trail at the dime sacrifice tree.  It seems that he and Tobin had been in the parking lot and had watched us repeating the route.  Mike’s curiosity had overwhelmed him as to who it was doing the route, and being unable to wait for us to come down he had started hiking up the trail to get an answer.  Bobby and I still laugh about it to this day.  When Mike saw us he didn’t ask what we had done, instead he just looked at us for a few seconds and then simply said “So it was you guys.”  At that moment we both instantly knew that we had arrived.

New Gen has also connected itself to me and two of the most important people in my life.  It was the first route that I ever did with Kevin Powell (Kevin’s first route at Suicide, at age 15 - he was too young to drive so I had to pick him up), and it was the first hard Suicide route that I did with Heidi, my then to be wife.

Given what the route already meant to me I felt that an ascent with a member of the first ascent party was a touch that I couldn’t resist.  Perhaps there were new things I could learn about the route, and we could share our memories and experiences about a route that had meaning to both of us.  I couldn’t have been more correct.

Photos: Ian Graham

As we geared up for the first pitch, Mike asked if he could lead both the first and second pitches.  This sounded good to me as it would give Mike an opportunity to finally have pictures of himself leading the route.  So off Mike goes, having a few moments of difficulty at the crux above the first bolt.  As he pondered the sequence I mentioned how the moves had become slightly more difficult after a black flake/edge had broken off in the early 80’s, and I told him that I still, to this day, have that hold at home complete with the chalk that was on it when I found it at the base of the route.  

At one point while Mike is leading the pitch we receive our only scare about being able to do the route.  Mike has opened a tip up on a razor sharp hold and for a minute we all hold our collective breaths while he cleans up the blood enough to determine if it is simply a puncture or a route ending split tip.  Luckily it is only a puncture on the side of the tip and Mike is able to continue.  We are reminded again that these routes can literally bite if you don’t have good calluses.

 

 

Mike well into the first pitch

As Mike finishes the pitch our friend John Weinberg arrives and joins us.  Mike sets up the belay and begins bringing us up.  After not having done the route for so long I relish the first pitch, its movements and its subtleties.   The day is beautiful and the climbing is great.  We’re off to a good start.

 

Here I’m stepping through the first pitch crux

As we wait for Clark Jacobs to finish crossing the route above us we discussed the day that Mike and Tobin did the route.  Mike tells me how he was just going out for a look and all of a sudden he was in the stance where the second bolt needed to be drilled.  But there was one small problem.  He didn’t have the drill with him as he hadn’t expected to get there.  Unwilling to risk suddenly not being able to do the moves again if he came down, he decided to just stand there and lower a loop of rope back down to Tobin.  As Mike stood there looking at a ledge fall Tobin went off, dug the drill out of the pack, and tied it on so Mike could pull it up and drill a bolt.

I start to grow impatient and decide to give Clark a little ribbing by yelling at him,  “Hey, hurry up, you’re holding up the show down here!”  Clark simply laughs in his normal good natured way and continues on.  Meanwhile, as I harass Clark, Mike contemplates the sequence of moves to the first bolt.  The first bolt is reasonably high off the ledge and the climbing is difficult enough to require focused attention by the climber.  While not overly dangerous, it’s still a good idea to avoid blowing the moves by having a good plan of action.  We discuss the sequence and Mike decides to approach the bolt from the right side.  I tell Mike how I remember a stick being on the ledge for a couple of years for use in clipping the bolt.  We both still feel that a stick clip really isn’t necessary.

 

I thought Mike was visualizing the moves but confesses he was trying to coax the first bolt a little lower.

Finally, everyone is on the ledge and Clark and company are out of the belay above us, so Mike starts the second pitch.  Mike’s shoes aren’t a tight fit and he is forced to constantly kick his toes into the ends of them, making the moves past the first bolt harder than they already are.  His first few tries reflect that difficulty and he seems almost a little tenuous.  Then it’s suddenly like a switch had been flipped and he puts a good looking sequence together that takes him nicely to the second bolt.  With the difficulties behind him he quickly finishes the pitch.

 

Pulling Through the second pitch crux

As I follow the pitch and arrive at the second bolt I try to imagine standing there and lowering a loop of rope to pull up the drill.  Needless to say, my estimation of what Mike had done instantly went up about ten notches. 

Ian follows the pitch and as he arrives at the second bolt he is obviously impressed by the job his dad did drilling the bolt.  Mike and I seize the opportunity to yell at Ian, “Yeah, now just stand there, drop a loop of rope, pull up the drill, and then drill the bolt”.  Ian just laughs as he shakes his head in disbelief.

 

Ian Showing Johnny his version of how to do the crux.

 

The tidbit of information about pulling up the drill was exactly the kind of thing I had been hoping for.  And what a tidbit it was.

Mike and I sit in the second belay and comment on how beautiful the day is and how good the climbing is.  As we look at the rock around the belay I spot a square black crystal that I’ve seen before but that I had completely forgotten about.  I mention that to Mike and he agrees, saying it’s been even longer for him since he was at this belay.  He then tells me that he’s only been at this station with two other people, Tobin Sorenson and John Bachar.  I realize the special company I’ve stepped into, and that maybe somehow I’ve stepped into Mike’s memories along with them. 

 

Here I couldn’t remember if there were four or five bolts on the last pitch

I lead the third pitch, wishing that the route continued on, not wanting it to end.  But it does.  And yet, as I sit at the belay I realize that it was only one ascent of the route that had come to an end for me.  New Gen has almost mystically wove itself and its threads through me and my climbing over the years and today it had done it again.  Today I had become even more connected to the route, and not only to the route but also to Mike.  We had shared a mutual experience on a route that we both valued, and the route had somehow connected us.  If New Gen could still work its magic on me today, after all these years, then why couldn’t it, and why wouldn’t it, happen again in the future?     

That evening Chas Wilson arrived and joined us for the next day’s activities.  As we sat around the campfire we were treated to several stories about Tobin and his exploits by Mike.  It was obvious how special their friendship had been from listening to Mike talk about him, and how much he was still missed.    Mike also told other stories, like how he had been one of the few car owners of the original core group of Stonemasters and how that had qualified him most of the time as the one who would drive the giant loop around the LA metropolis spending hours driving just to pick up the players for their trips.  As I listened to the stories I couldn’t help but feel even more connected to climbing at Suicide.  I was learning more about its history, who the climbers really were at a more personal level, the forces that had shaped and molded them, and the events and experiences surrounding the legacy they had left behind.  Their legacy was their routes, and I had reaped countless memories from those routes.  It somehow made my memories of those routes even more special as I learned additional details about the routes and their authors.

As the evening concluded plans were made for the next day.  I seized the opportunity to suggest Obscured by Clouds and possibly Season’s End.  Both were routes that Mike had been a member of the FA party on.  And, just as was the case with the Gen, both were routes that had memories for me.

Obscured by Clouds is, in my opinion, the best route on the Northeast Face of Suicide.  It has an interesting crux turning a roof on small holds followed by an exciting runout.  At the time it was put up I was into Pink Floyd and I decided that I needed to do the route because of that correlation.  Not to mention how appealing the line looked.  When I first did the route it turned out to be everything that I had anticipated.  In fact, it was so good that I would repeat the route many times in the years to come.  But now it had been so long since I had done it that I couldn’t even remember when the last time was.  I was definitely looking forward to repeating the route after not doing it for so long, and even more so because of something Mike had mentioned about the route the evening before.

Mike had set me straight on the meaning of the route name.  It had not been named after the Pink Floyd album after all, but rather because of the environmental conditions that existed the day they put the route up.  Due to its elevation and topographical location, Strawberry Valley (Idyllwild) can be subject to heavy cloud layers moving through when conditions are right.  The day that they put the route up had been one of those times and they had been in heavy, swirling clouds of fog.  Hence, the name; Obscured by Clouds.

Bobby and I first did Obscured shortly after the route was put up.  Not much notable to that by itself.  What is oddly notable is that we were also in heavy fog when we repeated it, although the fog did start to break up as we did the second pitch.  I have always found those days when the clouds roll through Strawberry Valley to be something special.  It seems so surrealistic, sound is dampened and you can barely see anywhere or anything.  Watching the climber as he slowly disappears into the fog is, as Mike stated, almost a little eerie.  It was yet one more little tidbit that connected me to the route even more, and also to Mike because of him having shared a similar experience the first time he did the route.  Yes, I was definitely looking forward to repeating the route.

When we arrive at the base Chas decides that he would really like to lead the route.  He sets off and methodically works his way up to and through the crux and then onto the runout above.  He climbs silently until he suddenly stops, steps down, and reevaluates his sequence.  “It’s hard here” he says.  I take the opportunity to state the obvious and tell him “that’s why the guide calls out 5.10 moves there.”   Funny how Suicide always seems to want to do that, throw some moves at you when you’re not close to a bolt.  After completing the moves Chas looks for the next bolt only to find out that he still has another 15-20’ to go.  Obviously, Mike wasn’t wasting bolts when he put the route up. 

 

Chas Wilson cruising the exhilarating first pitch of Obscured By Clouds  

As Mike follows the pitch he steps over the roof and tests a couple of different body positions, finding the one that he suspects he used to drill the bolt.  At about the halfway point of the runout he finds an old broken off stud and wonders how it got there.  Perhaps they had placed a bolt originally that he had forgotten about?  I quickly correct him.  The protection is the same as it ever was.  The stud had appeared at some point in the fog of years, and its history, both placement and chopping, was obscured by time.  It was just another of those odd little mysteries that isn’t likely to ever be solved.

After doing Obscured by Clouds we decided that we had enough time for a couple more routes.  I suggested Season’s End with its direct finish.  Mike voiced a concern that his tips were getting blown and he wouldn’t have anything left of them if he did that route.   I would have nothing of it, telling him that if that was the case he really needed to do it.  After all, just think how good his tips would become if he completely finished them off today.  It was the only logical thing to do.  After a little convincing Mike agreed.

 

Wendy Graham assessing the tip damage of a hard weekend at the crag  

Several times over the two days Chas, Johnny, and I had gloated among ourselves how cool it was to be able to do such high quality routes, and how really cool it was to be able to repeat them with a member of the first ascent party.  As we racked up at the base for Season’s End we fell into that conversation again, only this time it took on a touch of sadness.  Yes, we were getting to do the routes with a member of the FA party, but it would be even better if we could have the entire FA party with us.  But that wasn’t possible because Tobin couldn’t be with us.  Chas and Johnny had never met Tobin, but would have liked to.  I had only known Tobin somewhat superficially, and unfortunately I was never going to get the opportunity to know him better as I was with Mike.  As we scrambled up to the base our sadness started to dissipate, we might not be able to see Tobin anymore, but we could sure see a route that he had left behind for us.

Season’s End has a split personality.  The route was put up in two parts, the first when Mike and Tobin had drilled five bolts before traversing into Delilah (early 70’s, 10b), the second when Eric Erickson had added three more bolts for a direct finish (’78, 11c).  When Mike and Tobin did the original line it hadn’t seemed terribly noteworthy to them.  It had simply been all in a days work, racing up the line on a late afternoon one day after doing a picture shoot on Insomnia.  It was almost an afterthought, just something to finish out the day.  They had always meant to come back and do the direct finish, but as is so often the case, it had never happened.

I had repeated the original line within days of them establishing it.  Eric Allen and I had seen their hand-written route description in the local climbing shop notebook the day after they put it up.  Within a couple of days we were at the base to do it ourselves, having perfect conditions with an overcast sky on a late afternoon.  We could still see the drill dust streaks under each of the bolts from their drilling as we did the route.

In ’78 Erickson decided that the route needed to have the direct finish completed, and undertook the task.  Unlike the first five bolts which climb on positive good edges with nicely spaced bolts, the top three bolts are closely spaced to protect continuous thin edging up a faint black water runnel.  The contrast is remarkable.  The easier climbing on the sea of good holds abruptly gives way to hard climbing on a sea of dimes with no sizable holds available for the remainder of the pitch.

My luck is running hot and I end up getting the lead.  We set up the belay in the Escalator so we can protect the opening moves, and I cast off.  The feeling is one of pleasure as holds and sequences come into play that I had completely forgotten about, yet which somehow had been locked away, waiting for an opportunity to be brought back.  Oh yeah, I remember that, and this, and that…  How cool to be here again.

As I idly stand at the fifth bolt composing myself for the continuous thin holds to come, and the desperate clips, I reflect on the two most memorable times when I had previously done the route.  The first was when Bob Van Belle had followed the pitch in Scat tennis shoes.  It had blown my mind at the time and as I looked at the small holds that were to come, it still did.  The second was when I had done it with Tim Powell and as I was setting up the belay after leading the pitch (still gear at that time) my swami belt had literally started to fall off.  Seems I had started to follow the knot through but had somehow only stuck the tail in, failing to follow it all the way around.  The tension of the wraps and the amount of tail had caused it to stay in place, although it was slowly working out, until I was setting up the belay when the end finally came out and the swami started to unwrap.  Good thing I hadn’t fallen that day I guess.   As I reflected, I decided that today would be yet another memorable ascent of the route, but only if I got busy and finished. So, off I went on holds so small I could barely see them.

Mike follows the pitch, at one point striking a pose and saying “This is where the picture of Tobin drilling was taken.”  We debate what magazine the picture had appeared in, Summit or Mountain.  Mike says Summit, which later proves to be correct.  Funny how an old black and white photograph can bring back so many memories.  To Mike, it is as if he is there again, alternating bolt placements with Tobin.  He can smell the drill dust and hear the hammer blows.  The picture, like the others he has of Tobin, draws him in amid a flood of memories.  To me, the picture captures the feeling of the day I first did the route; the flat light of a late afternoon at Suicide, the need for a sweater to stay warm, and the feel of the route.  When I look at that picture, I’m there once again.  It is almost impossible to put into words the power that is contained within that image.

 

 

Tobin Sorenson drills the last bolt of their 1973 ascent. Photo: Mark Miller  

Mike and I watch as Chas and Johnny follow the pitch.  We discuss how thin the moves are and how difficult it must have been to drill the top two bolts.  As we watch, we decide that there is no way the bolts were drilled on aid.  First, Erickson simply wouldn’t have done that, and second, the bolts are far enough off line from each other and just far enough apart that it’s obvious they were lead bolts.  We are all impressed at the job Erickson did.  Mike is of the opinion that Erickson should have renamed the route because the direct finish altered its nature so radically.  As we talk further about the dual/split personality of the route Mike hits upon the perfect name.  We all agree that from this point on the route should have an alias.  Season’s End, aka, Jekyll and Hyde. 

Mike, Wendy, and Ian decide they should start driving for home and we say our good-byes.  However, Chas, Johnny, and I decide we want to do one last route.  And there, right in front of us, is the perfect candidate.  Rebolting Development.  

Rebolting Development is odd in that it has never seemed to receive the recognition that it truly deserves.  It was put up in ’71 by Kaeser, Wert, and Bender and is characterized by beautiful rock, difficult climbing, runouts, and some very impressive bolt stances on its second pitch.  In spite of all its qualities, especially considering when it was established, the route has always seemed to be somewhat overshadowed by its peers.  Which is unfortunate, considering that it is possibly the penultimate Suicide classic, embodying everything that makes climbing at Suicide memorable.  The route is so special that I’ve never tired of doing it, enough so that the route easily qualifies as the one I’ve done the most times at Suicide.

I had first done the route with Eric Erickson.  Bobby and I had just started doing the more difficult routes and one day Eric had recruited me for the second pitch, telling me “I’ve been watching you guys.  We should do Rebolting.  I’ll lead the first, you lead the second.”  At the time, all I knew was that the first pitch was runout, so it seemed like a good deal.  Little did I know about the hard stance and clip on the second, the one where the bolt was only halfway in.  I still think Eric knew about it, but I was gullible enough at the time to not ask questions.  That bolt used to give real meaning to the term “spinner”.   Once a casual friend and I were doing the route and he was leading the second pitch.  When he got to within a few feet of the bolt and saw how far it stuck out he chose to jump off, rather than clip the bolt and continue on the runout past it.  Man, did that bolt stick out or what?

Neither Chas or Johnny had ever done the route and Mike and I had convinced them that they were in for a real treat, and that with fat bolts it wouldn’t be a big deal.

Chas sets off on the first pitch, a pleasure to watch as he dispatches it with calculated precision.  I work up the second pitch, impressed yet once again at the remarkable achievement the route was for ’71.  As I teeter (yet again) into the stance for the third bolt and make the thin clip I can’t help but think of Kaeser standing there in some funky old shoes drilling like a psycho madman.  Badass is all I can say.  Not only badass for the day, but still badass today.

Not wishing to rush the experience we pause for a while at the end of the second pitch and look down the beautiful sweep of granite below us.  We marvel at the golden edges and the chocolate and brown patina splattered across the second pitch, and at the potholes that seem to appear in the perfect places.  We laugh as we think about trying to drill the third bolt on the second pitch, and the fall you would take if you came off while drilling it.  It seems that Chas and Johnny have found the route to be one of those where they will always remember the first time they did it.  Just as the route has meaning to me, maybe it will have meaning to them.  And just as I’ve formed bonds with the people I’ve climbed with in this wonderful place, perhaps we’ve started forming a new bond between the three of us.

As I drive down the twisting curves and turns of the 243 on my way back into the city I feel the flush of the activities of the past two days.  It has been a great return trip, I’ve repeated great routes with great people, and routes that were already special to me have become even more meaningful.  Once again that old feeling that we all know so well is overwhelmingly strong; I must come back and do more routes.  My thoughts are filled with plans, there are so many routes to pick from, which ones should I do next?    When can I coordinate the next trip with Mike, and is there someone else we can get to come along next time? 

It really is as Mike says.  You can always go back.   Think about it, how long has it been since you went back?  You can go back.  You should go back.  You need to go back.  It’s been far too long since you were there.

 

 

 

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Wish You Were Here

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