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When I was seventeen I hitchhiked out to California from the midwest. I was at the beginning of a "Quest" for finding some sort of meaning to my life and was willing to put myself at physical risk to find it. The next month was intense for me as I traveled. I was very ignorant. When I look back now I shiver at the thought of such a young, inexperienced "lamb" so exposed to the elements and other dangers. I carried a small rugsack and had an old wool army blanket as my only protection from the cold at night. But somehow, I made it out to the Pacific Ocean and northern California. I traveled up the coast and eventually headed inland over coastal hills and then back south. By chance I ended up in Yosemite Valley, a place I had never heard of before. It was a valley of monumental scale. I was amazed by the size of the walls and the incredible beauty. I wandered up trails into the high country, looking back down at the valley 3000 feet below.

The nights were cold in the high country in September and I slept in my blanket with my clothes and jacket on. I had never seen so many stars as I saw while high up in the Sierra backcountry. I would lie in my blanket with my stocking cap on and gaze up at the firmament for hours. One night I woke up to find a black bear on the foot of my bed roll, investigating my rugsack. I jumped up and the bear fled and ran into the nearby campsite of three British climbers who were up in the high country to climb The Lost Arrow Spire. The panicked bear ran through their camp and woke them up. We were all rattled by the bear's visit and built a fire and shivered in the dark. The next day I watched the Brits climb the spire. I did not understand the technical aspects of rock climbing. By the afternoon I was cold and hungry. I left the Brits and made my way back down to the warmer valley. But I carried the vision of the Lost Arrow Spire in my memory over what seemed like several lifetimes.

After climbing Washington Column on Monday, Nate and I slept in Tuesday morning and then took our time getting ready for the Lost Arrow Spire. I took the shuttle bus from Camp 4 over to Curry Village and took a hot shower. It was good to get feel clean. I stopped at a picnic table and wrote out several postcards to friends and mailed these. Then Nate & I met back at Camp 4.

We had agreed it would be best to backpack up to the top of Yosemite Falls on Tuesday afternoon, camp out overnight, and then climb the spire on Wednesday. This made more sense, rather than trying to rush up the trail in the early morning in the darkness, get on the spire already tired, do the climb, and then come back down into the valley, possibly weary and chilled. So, in the early afternoon we laid out a tarp behind the car and sorted camping equipment and climbing gear.

We loaded our packs. Nate had his medium-sized, contoured, internal frame pack, a fairly new, purple Dana Design. I had my large, old external frame pack, an old, forest green Kelty which I had bought a long time ago. After fitting all the gear in and on the pack I wrestled it onto my right leg and struggled to get it onto my right shoulder. I had a hell of a load! Two ropes, sleeping gear, winter clothing, water, the rack of climbing gear, stove, food, water and miscellaneous gear. Nate had a good load too although considerably lighter. Yet this probably was proportional to our individual frames, weight and stamina. Still, lifting the pack was a shock! I figured I was carrying between 70 and 80 pounds. Ugh! The shoulder straps dug deep. I made a promise to myself to buy a padded hip pad for the next time I took on the role of pack animal.

The path to the upper Yosemite Falls begins behind Camp 4. We slowly left the parking lot, found the path and began our trudge up to the top of the falls. The path is a popular day hike and there were a number of young people in groups and as couples, striding up the trail. We moved extremely slowly. Nate moved in small soft steps. I followed, letting him set the pace.

Generally the path to the Upper Yosemite Falls is a series of switchbacks that climb as steeply as the normal, lightly laden hiker can go up without straining knees and ankles. The two of us moved with soft, slow, almost delicate steps, walking with careful deliberation. For the first hour we were generally in the shade of leafy trees which protected us from a warm afternoon sun. Groups would come up behind us. We did not stop to let them by but would hang to the right so that they could pull around us. Some young people would race ahead of us. We continued our slow pace. Eventually we would come up to them, where they were resting. Then a little later they would pass us again. Others would rest and then rise and rush off again when we caught up. We in turn would rest at 45 minute intervals.

After the first hour I gradually grew accustomed to the load. We pulled above the trees and turned the corner toward the north. Now we could see the Upper Yosemite Falls tumbling down over 1200 feet. At this point the switchbacks were long and relatively gradual in slope. My pace began to quicken as I could see our goal to the right of the falls---the Lost Arrow Spire.

Lost Arrow is a massive needle of granite which detaches from the main cliff to the right of Yosemite Falls. The tip of the needle is close to 3000 feet above the valley floor. An "elbow" is formed where the needle connects to the cliff. Between the tip of the spire and the cliff is an eighty foot gap. To climb the spire, climbers must first rappel 300 feet down the cliff to the elbow. From the elbow, the climbers traverse out over the valley, making their way to their left and up the spire in two pitches or rope lengths. The route spirals up to the "Salathe Ledge" and then straightens and goes up to the tip.

I was ahead of Nate and moved at a faster pace. After getting about 50 yards ahead, I would stop and look at the falls and the spire while he caught up. I saw a speck on the spire. A climber. Suddenly it struck me how high the climb was. "Two Sears Towers above the Valley!" Nate said. It looked it! I was amazed that we were going to be making our way up that exposed piece of rock tomorrow morning.

After several more hours we were on the top of the valley, looking down at the Merced Creek which carries the spring melt waters over the upper and lower Yosemite Falls. We were weary from 4-5 hours of hiking up switchbacks, carrying heavy loads. But we were not done yet. We crossed the bridge which had not been there many years ago when I first visited Yosemite. Then we began up steep slab rock and soon came to snow. We hiked in damp, compacted snow for another 15 - 20 minutes. I had my lightweight hiking boots on. Nate had running shoes. Finally we came to Yosemite Point and dropped our packs.

There was a guard rail at Yosemite Point and several people stood looking out over the valley. To our right and below was the Lost Arrow.

That evening we laid out our bivy sacks and camped on a level section of gravel about 100 yards from the edge of the cliff. In the fading light I cooked on my little stove as I lay on my stomach in my sleeping bag. We ate rice augratin and a noodle dish. These filled us up well. That evening the weather turned cold and overcast and we were concerned that we might be rained out. We had gale like winds that night and it grew cold. At one point in the night I woke up and looked up to see the full moon and a starry sky. I was relieved that we were not going to have to face rain or snow. Then I turned over and went back to sleep.

In the morning it was very cold compared to the summer-like conditions down in the valley which we had become accustomed to. I got out of my bivy and put on my multiple layers of thermax, polarfleece, parka and pants. Once the sun was up, ice that had formed overnight on the surrounding slab rock began to melt. I spent some time collecting this water for cooking, cleaning and for the day's drinking water. We treated the water with iodine solution.

After cleaning up from breakfast we reloaded our packs. The air warmed up quickly and I changed back into summer clothing. Then we carefully stepped out on sloping slab rock towards three trees that stood at the edge of the cliff.

This was the beginning of the climb. As usual there is an internal inertia that I face when I come to the beginning of a climb, especially where there is big "exposure". In spite of the feeling, you have to move anyway, shivering away the fear like the early morning chill.

I unloaded the ropes from my pack and Nate tied the two ends together with a fisherman's knot. Then he tied one end to a tree trunk with a double looped bowline knot. After he was done with the knots I stepped over and double checked since both our lives would depend on these. We pulled out our harnesses, climbing shoes, cameras, water and ascenders. Nate took the rack and small day pack. I took the additional gear and the third coil of rope. We repacked our larger packs, put a food bag to one side so that no small animals would gnaw into the packs.

We talked quietly about what was the next sequence of actions. He would rappel down first. At the knot which connected the ropes, we would each have to hang on to the rope with an ascender, pull the rappel device apart to get around the knot, reinstall the rappel unit, and then continue down the cliff to the elbow.

Nate went down first. After 5-10 minutes he called back that he was clear. Then I hooked up and double checked my rappel device and ascender. Then I slid down over the cliff. The view was immediately dramatic. The wall dropped away in an apparent eternity. The work sliding down the cliff was harder than the usual rappel. I had only one rope, rather than the usual two, sliding through my rappel device (an ATC---Air Traffic Controller). This gave less friction that the normal double rope combination. In addition, the second rope was a 9mm (millimeters in diameter) rope rather that the standard 11mm rope, so the rappel would have even less friction than usual once I passed the knot.

When I reached the knot I released the cam of the ascender so that it grabbed the rope. Then I took apart the rope from the ATC and reassembled these below the knot on the smaller 9 mm rope. At this point my ascender became twisted on the locking biner. As a result I had difficulty getting the cam to disengage from the rope. Now I was caught with the knot blocking my ascender so that I could not continue the rappel. For a couple minutes I wrestled with the ascender with my left hand while I pulled down hard with my right hand on the smaller 9mm rope, applying friction to the ATC. Rope stretch kept pulling the knot back up into my torqued ascender and jamming the whole mess. My adrenaline shot up as I struggled to make the physical effort while suspended above an endless void.

When climbing on a big wall I consciously ignore the height. I make a special effort to concentrate on the technical details of climbing such as the equipment, knots, hand and foot holds, placement of protection. When I look around, I tend to concentrate my gaze off at an angle, rather than spend much time looking straight down. Consciously I know that there is little difference between a disaster 150 feet up a route as opposed to 2500 feet. Still, in moments of physical stress, it takes more effort to suppress the anxiety the body feels from this massive physical exposure.

By the time I got down to the elbow I was shaky from the combination of physical effort plus the excitement at being suspended so high up. It took probably 5 minutes to rest and calm down. But I still wanted to lead the first pitch. Nate said he would lead both pitches but I said no, I would be all right once I had caught my breath, and I wanted to have a go at it. According to the topographical map, the first pitch was to be the easier of the two pitches, rated A-1. The second pitch was rated A-2 and I felt that that would need to be Nate's. He was thoroughly experienced at aid climbing. I was not. So I knew that I would have to take the first pitch if I was going to lead any pitch at all.

While Nate arranged the anchor for the first belay, I caught my breath. Then I carefully worked my way over to the anchor and clipped in. He passed me the rack, quick-draws and runners. We tied one end of the two ropes we had slid down the cliff on to the back of Nate's belt. He would bring these up when he followed me. Eventually we would use these to make a Tyrolean Traverse back across the gap between spire and cliff once we reached the top of the spire.

The beginning of the first pitch of the Lost Arrow immediately disappears from the belay ledge, turning around a corner and up. Once the climber steps out and around he is immediately thousands of feet over Yosemite Valley with nothing but air in-between. We talked briefly about setting the first pieces of protection on the pitch. Nate put me "on belay" and I stepped out onto a large flake. We had tapped on this flake a few minutes before and it had sounded hollow and untrustworthy. I consciously did not jamb my foot into the crack for fear of breaking the flake loose from the face of the spire. I turned around the corner; there was a mashed copperhead waiting for me with a short sling hanging from it.

I clipped into the sling but did not consider myself protected. I looked above me and saw a crack running up the face. I examined several old piton scars and took a small cam from the rack and fitted it carefully into the scar. It fit well. I then clipped an aider --a fabric ladder--- on to the cam's loop and tentatively stood on a lower rung. After testing the aider I stepped up to a higher foot loop and took a carbiner and clipped it into an old piton that was permanently left in the crack. I clipped in my other aider, stood on it and then clipped in my daisy chain which was attached to my waist loop. I attached a sling and carbiner into the piton. Then I reached down, lifted the rope up and clipped it into the carbiner. With the copperhead, cam and piton, I felt protected. I relaxed and looked up.

Now I was focused on the details and rhythm of aid climbing: Setting pieces, moving aiders up and clipping them into the pieces, transferring weight from lower to higher aider, testing the piece by stomping on the rung of the aider, finally committing myself to it. Moving up the daisy chain. Clipping the rope into a carbiner on the lower piece for protection. Ascending the higher aider, setting another piece, moving up the lower aider to the new set, testing and committing again, bringing up the daisy and then repeating the process. Finding the right nut or cam that would do the job took time. Mistakes can be unforgiving under these circumstances. Still, I made reasonably good progress, moving with deliberate speed.

After working for fifteen to twenty minutes I came to a sloping section where I could not find a good crack to set a nut or cam. I looked at the slope and the hand holds and decided that this was an section that I should just free climb rather than aid judging it to be well within my ability. I yelled down to Nate to watch me, that I was stepping out of the aiders. I clamped my fingers down onto a small seam with my right hand and stepped out of my aider. With my left hand I unclipped the aider from the piece and attached it onto my harness. I clipped a carbiner into the protection, clipped in the rope and then free climbed up to the top of a ledge.

This was not the end of the first pitch. Above me was a roof and then a three to four inch wide crack which ran up to the Salathe Ledge which was the end of the first pitch. After a short pause I began up the roof and crack, aid climbing again. But I quickly had a doubt. I was not certain that I had enough large cams to complete the climb and also leave adequate protection for Nate when he ascended up on the rope.

I was hanging twelve feet above the ledge, standing on my aiders, with two cams in the wide crack. I wasn't certain I would know if I was doing this right or not. Obviously I would need to back clean, scavenging lower cams to set above me. I was not comfortable with this. Protecting the second climber became an issue two days before on Washington Column and I didn't want to make an error which could put him in jeopardy. Nor did I want to take a long time figuring it all out. After our experience being stuck in the dark on Washington Column I didn't want to waste time and get into a repeat of that. Finally, I lowered myself back down to the ledge, cleaning out the cams as I came down. I called to Nate and explained that I was uncertain about the situation and wanted him to come up and look it over.

I set an anchor and belayed him as he climbed, cleaning out the pieces of protection as he came. Once Nate was up, he examined the roof and crack. I passed him the rack. He put back on it the pieces he had just cleaned. Then he took the rest of the lead, about 25 feet. He aided the first section over the roof as I had, aided up the crack a little higher up than I had gone. Then he free-climbed the last ten feet of the crack leaving the three larger cams behind. He fixed the rope and then I "jugged" up on the ascenders, cleaning the cams out as I came up.

We were now on the Salathe Ledge. It was a beautiful spot, looking directly south over Yosemite Valley. It was now 2:15 in the afternoon and the sun was hot in a cloudless sky. I clipped into the three bolts which were the belay anchor. Then we transferred the gear I had picked up on the short section I had just jugged. I would now belay Nate on the second pitch.

The scene from the Salathe ledge was dramatic. There was an unobstructed view down to the valley floor. The wind was cool but it was wonderful spring day. The ledge was spacious, at least ten feet long and three feet wide. The ledge gave the feeling of great exposure but it still felt secure and comfortable.

We reflaked the lead rope so that it would feed out easily to Nate when he was on lead. Again we transferred gear back to him and he rearranged it on the rack. We continued to move with deliberate speed.

I put Nate on belay and he unclipped from the anchor. He traversed left, off the ledge and onto very thin foot and finger holds. He had some "Loweballs" which are for extremely small placements. These are small, spingloaded expanding pieces that can be inserted into very thin cracks and pockets. When released they expand a little and then hopefully hold onto the rock. They are very small and do not inspire confidence. Nate spent some time finding a spot in a thin crack where the Loweball would hold. He was very nervous. At this point, if he would have fallen, he would have swung down and to the right, slamming into the side of the Salathe Ledge from where I was belaying him. When belaying a leader on this sort of situation the belayer must be especially alert and treat the rope with delicacy. One the one hand you must be careful to not put any tension on the rope which might pull the lead climber off thin hand and foot holds. But you must also be ready to instantly pull in rope to shorten it should he begin to fall so to minimize his swing. He loudly cursed the miserable Loweball. While you might stand on it all right, you would not want to fall on it. It would probably pull out from the force of a fall.

After the Loweball was placed, he stepped up on the aider, moving up the rungs. He clipped in his daisy chain and immediately went to work setting his other Loweball. He moved further to the left and was soon out of sight. For the next hour I sat in the hot sun, like a fisherman, feeding rope out slowly as I felt pulls on the line.

After an hour or so, I heard a yell. The wind was blowing and Upper Yosemite Falls was thundering but finally I heard him yell "Off Belay". I yelled back to confirm. Then I took him off belay and let him pull up the rest of the rope. When he got the slack up and the rope pulled on my harness I yelled "That's me". At this point he would fixed the rope to an anchor at the top of the spire. He would not belay me. Rather he'd simply let the rope hang from the anchor and I would jug up the entire pitch.

This is where my work began. I pulled up the end of the two ropes that were still connected to the trees back on the cliff. This was our ticket back from the top of the spire so I pulled them up so they would not be caught on cracks or overhangs below. This long rope was attached to the back of my harness. I carefully put on the small back pack. I attached my ascenders to the fixed rope that ran up to Nate and then unhooked from two of the three anchors. I moved over to the left edge of the ledge and snugged up the ascenders as high as I could get them on the rope. Then I called up to confirm that the knot was set. The wind was blowing and the sound of the water falls was loud so I had to shout several times before I heard what sounded like an "OK" from above. I took a deep breath, unclipped the last anchor and then I stepped onto the middle rung of the aider and rose up off the ledge.

With my feet off the ledge I immediately pendulumed to the left and was airborne over the void. After the rope straightened out I hung on the rope and looked around me. It was both beautiful and terrible. The Salathe Ledge was now to the right and out of reach. Behind and below me was the Upper Yosemite Falls. The Upper Falls is over 1200 feet high and I was several hundred feet above it. It roared. Updrafts would rise, gathering water; then the falls would make loud slapping sounds as these slabs of water continued their fall and hit the rock. The coolness of the water was borne up and I could feel it on my sunburned arms and face. I gazed down, contemplating this gigantic falls, one of the largest in the world.

I pulled a small camera out of my shirt pocket and took a couple shots. These would be slides for reliving the moment later and recalling details. I returned the camera to my pocket, buttoned it, and began the work of "jugging" and "cleaning".

When 'jugging' up a fixed rope, there is a left hand and right hand ascender. The left hand, upper ascender is attached to the webbed daisy chain which is then tied into the waist of the climber's harness. The right hand, lower ascender is attached to an aider. Hanging from the lower ascender, the climber stands up on the aider and rises up to his full height. Then he pushes the upper ascender, the daisy chain ascender, up the rope. Then he slumps down, putting his weight on the harness and off the aider. With his weight off the aider, he slides the lower ascender up the rope and then stands back up on the aider again and begins the cycle over. This doesn't take skill but it uses a great deal of energy. As the second jugs up, he cleans out the protection left by the leader. Every 15 feet or so he ties a knot in the rope below the aiders so that should the ascenders fail to hold the rope, he won't slide down out of control and off the end of the rope.

It took me about twenty minutes to jug and clean. The first section was almost vertical. Towards the top of the spire the rock began to slope and the rope lay on the granite. My body weight drew the rope down hard and I watched to make certain the rock was not cutting at the rope's nylon sheath. I had to lean back away from the rock to make some clearance so I could get the ascenders up the rope without pinning them against the rock.

As I came up the slope I heard clapping and looked up to see that we had an audience of 40-50 people who were watching from the Yosemite Point overlook. Other day hikers were scattered about on the edge of the cliff. I waved. I remembered how awesome it looked when I had seen the British climbers on this rock many years before and I felt happy that I was now "in the picture" that I had carried in my head for what seemed like a lifetime. The circle was just about complete.

Nate was waiting for me on top of the spire. He was anchored into a steel cable which in turn was attached to two half inch bolts. He also was tied into the bolts separately. I tied immediately and sat down. Time for a break. I pulled off the day pack, clipped it into the cable and unzipped it and pulled out the water bottle and handed it to Nate. He drank and then I took a sip. Boy, that tasted good! There was just enough room for both of us to sit and work. I sat for five minutes, resting and looking out at the surrounding spectacle.

We began work on the climax of the climb, the Tyrolean Traverse across from the spire tip back to the cliff. This is why we had dragged the other two ropes which we had rappelled down to the elbow on and which were still attached to the tree on top of the cliff. A standard rope length is 50 meters or about 165 feet. There was about 100 feet between the spire tip and the tree--about a third of a football field. We carefully pulled the two trailing ropes up and anchored them. Then we made preparations for me to work my way across.

I would again use the ascenders in order to pull myself across the chasm. In addition too being tied into the daisy chain ascender, we tied a short sling through my waist webbing and clipped it to the fixed rope with a locking carbiner. This would support my body weight on the horizontal section of the traverse. We looked this over and talked about the details, getting it clear in both of our minds. I would drag back the second and third ropes. We would then have three ropes suspended over the void. Then Nate would follow. Neither of us had ever done a rope traverse before so this was unfamiliar to both of us.

Finally I felt ready. He put me on belay with the third rope. The belay would be important for only the first couple minutes as I lowered off the spire. After the initial rope sag, I would be traversing uphill towards the cliff and the trees above. Then the belay would have little utility but as a poor backup. The fixed rope was literally my "lifeline". We double checked the knots and locked carbiner gates. Then I unclipped from the anchors. I began to lower my legs over the edge. Nate looked down at me and said, "You know, this is kind of an experiment!" He sounded a little worried. I laughed and reassured him, "No matter what happens, its OK! If something should go wrong, don't blame yourself! I'm a big boy and we've checked this out together." I had thought about if something should happen, I would not want him carrying around guilt for the rest of his life. I was so happy to be here. And while I had no desire to die, part of me didn't care. If something should happen in this spot, what a fine way to go!

The adrenaline was flowing now as I lowered down. The fixed rope sagged from my weight and I was ten feet down on the face of the spire before I was able to start out across. Quickly I got into a short rhythm of drawing myself along on the ascenders. Once I was about 60 feet across I stopped and hung and looked back at the massive spire and to the water falls to the right of the spire and the valley floor to the left. I felt like a bird, hovering thousands of feet above it all. I began to laugh loudly. "What's wrong?" he yelled. "Nothing! I'm just happy. This is the most ridiculous thing a person could do!", I shouted. I laughed again. Then I got out my camera and took a shot looking back at the spire and the falls. God, this was beautiful! My waist belt pulled hard at my back. My muscles were tiring from holding myself upright. I carefully put the camera back, buttoned the pocket and went back to jugging. Soon I was on the other side and ascending the cliff.

The cliff eventually rounded out and I walked up the last bit of the way and was back to the trees. I had made it! Wonderful! I immediately tied into a tree and then yelled to Nate that I was clear. He began his preparations while I tied in the other two ropes to the tree. Then I walked back down the slopping portion of the cliff, still tied into the tree with a 20 foot length of rope and took up position to belay Nate. Since I would be above him the entire time, my belay would be a good backup for him. I clipped the ascenders to one of the ropes, held it high above my head and slid them back across to him. He took another ten minutes or so checking his equipment and then he lowered himself down and made his way across.

Finally we were both back at the trees. It was a fine moment. We had both made the climb a great success and we were happy and relieved. For me especially, this climb had great meaning since it had brought me back to the teenager I had been in what now seemed like just only a year or two before. I felt like I had closed a circle in a mystical sense. With this came the feeling of wholeness. That evening we slowly made our way down the dim path towards the darkening valley. As we moved along I savored the experience. And I knew there were more circles to close; I looked forward to the prospect.

---April 1994