Day 4: You Wanna Know How I Got These Scars?
Wednesday, June 2, 2021 remains one of the scariest of my life. As you read the account of my misadventure with Shane, note our mistakes so that you refrain from repeating them yourself. Ultimately, Shane and I needlessly pushed ourselves to the point of endangerment. I put much of the blame on myself, since I persistently kept us going despite several warning signs. I’m incredibly thankful that Shane kept a level head throughout the day: without him, I’m not sure we would have made it back to our friends. The day was a learning experience, one that could have ended much worse than it did.
To Tuolumne Meadows
My alarm sounded at 5:20 AM, waking Shane and me abruptly from our slumber. We were both incredibly tired – still not physically recovered from Half Dome – but I was excited enough to ignore that exhaustion. Today was the day we climb and traverse Matthes Crest, an insane-looking rock fin that runs north to south for a mile in Yosemite National Park’s Tuolumne Meadows. Pictures of the route looked incredible, and I couldn’t wait to see it for myself.
Aaron, Alex, Cody, Ian, Jack, Phillip, and Will maintained their plan for a chill day in Yosemite Valley. They were scheduled to see Lower Yosemite Fall, visit the Ahwahnee Hotel, go shopping, and enjoy the Merced. In retrospect, their day sounded way more fun than what Shane and I went through. Hindsight is 20/20, after all…
While the others relaxed at our campsite, Shane and I hopped into the car and drove 1.5 hours to the Cathedral Lakes Trailhead, which we reached by 7 AM. On the way there, Shane barely spoke since he was so tired. He slept in the car while I jammed out to music, trying to keep myself awake. Our exhaustion was warning sign #1.
We spent about 2.5 hours trekking the John Muir Trail with 50 pounds of gear on our backs. Once we reached Cathedral Pass, we expected to find a climber’s approach trail, which we’d use to reach the southern end of Matthes Crest. During our hike, Shane continued to wear his exhaustion on his sleeve. I was tired too, but the excitement of our endeavor – coupled with incredible views of the Meadows – kept me energized. So, I kept pushing us to reach Matthes Crest.
Another Brutal Approach
Remember when I complained about climber approach trails? And how bad Half Dome’s was? Well, the approach to Matthes Crest was even worse. The only reason we managed to reach the crest was due to its obvious prominence in the Meadows. The trail was poorly defined, so we trudged along by keeping the crest in our sights. Along the way, we fought hoards of mosquitoes – this time equipped with bug spray – while scrambling through swamps, over rocks, around fallen trees, and up steep inclines. As tired as we were, it absolutely sucked.
We reached the base of Matthes Crest by 11:15 AM. After over 6 miles of hiking – 2 of which were on the awful approach trail – we were already puckered out. Shane curled up at the base of the climb and took a nap. Meanwhile, I began scrambling around the nearby rocks to take pictures. The sights at the climb’s base were absolutely spectacular: granite domes and spires, forests, and distant mountains all made the surroundings beautiful. While Shane slept, I made friends with some marmots hanging out near our backpacks.
More Warning Signs
I waited until 12:30 PM to wake Shane up. He was still tired when I woke him up, so much so that he requested I lead the route. As someone with little trad experience, my heart skipped a few beats when he asked the question. However, my eagerness to climb overrode my logic, and I agreed. This was warning sign #2. So, we began setting up for the climb around 1 PM. We likely faced 3-5 hours on Matthes Crest once we started climbing, meaning we wouldn’t finish the climb until late afternoon or evening. This was warning sign #3. You should never start such a long climb so late in the day, especially during the summer.
Where we were, neither of us had cell service. We were too far from Yosemite Valley for the walkie-talkie to work. So, we had no way of contacting the rest of the group if something went wrong. This was warning sign #4.
Surely, four warning signs would have been enough to deter us, right? Nope. We carried on.
Up Matthes Crest
Climbing to the top of Matthes Crest took a painful 90 minutes. During this time, I nervously led the route and tried to keep a level head. Our ascent was mostly uneventful, but high winds began picking up as we gained elevation. This made communication difficult, as we could barely hear each other once we were more than 50 feet apart.
We reached the top of the crest – several hundred feet above where we started – at 2:30 PM. When we got situated, we looked at the route in front of us – a sketchy traverse extending for nearly a mile – and became worried. It would be several hours before we’d reach the other side. We were tired, hungry, and nervous, and the winds had kicked up to nearly 40 mph. These additional warning signs were the last straw, so we decided it was time to leave. Finally, nature had knocked some sense into us.
Neither Shane nor I knew where the nearest rappel point was, so we decided it was easiest to descend the way we came up. We could have theoretically built rappels using Shane’s gear, but neither of us wanted to sacrifice the gear that would have been necessary to build anchors. Plus, since we were at least two pitches off the ground, we figured it would take far more time to rappel than downclimb.
Our plan? Shane, as the more competent trad climber (and now more awake than he was earlier), would descend first: downclimbing with me belaying from up above. On the way down, he would place trad gear – cams, nuts, and hexes – to protect me from potential falls. Then, I would climb down after him in a “reverse lead-climb” fashion and remove gear as I went. It wasn’t an ideal setup – any climber would tell you that – but it was our best idea given the situation. After snapping a few photos, we prepared to execute our plan.
A Terrifying Descent
After taking in the view one more time atop Matthes Crest, we began our downclimb. The first half of the downclimb went smoothly. Climbing down the jagged granite felt a little sketchy (downclimbing is always harder than climbing up), but I trusted Shane’s trad placement and the moves – 5.3 at hardest – were fairly easy. Once I joined Shane at a ledge at the halfway point, the fun quickly halted with one ominous sound.
Thunder.
A nearby cloud had begun depositing rain only a couple miles from our position. The shower had intensified into a storm, and we began to hear low rumbles from it. The best part? It was headed directly for us.
Shane and I were literally mobile lightning rods. We were on an exposed rock face with zero cover with large metal pieces of gear hanging from our waists. I knew if there was any cloud-to-ground lightning, we were probably f*cked. So, I began panicking. I suggested to Shane that we ditch the gear and climb to the ground solo-style to save time and seek cover from the storm. It was a ridiculous suggestion, one that Shane – thank God – shot down immediately. Instead, we secured my harness to a set of anchors, and I quickly began lowering Shane. He hastily placed trad gear as he descended, screaming commands to me in the wind.
Shane reached the ground. He put me on belay. I removed the anchors and started climbing down the last stretch of the route. The storm was almost on top of us. The thunder intensified as I made my way down the rock. My heart raced. I thought of Maria, my friends in the valley, my home back in Indianapolis, my family… all the people and things I suddenly missed in the moment. An extreme fear for my life took over my senses and controlled my actions.
I removed a nut from the wall, a nut that would have held me if I fell. The next piece of gear was at least 10-15 feet below me. I could feel raindrops on my shoulders. Suddenly, the foot jib I was standing on broke.
The Fall
As soon as my footing gave way, I grabbed for the wall. I missed.
In the 2-3 seconds that I fell, a life’s worth of memories and questions flooded my head. Thanks to the storm, I was already in a “death” mindset, so – when I fell – I thought it was the end of the road for me. I thought of Maria. What would she do if I didn’t make it back from this? Would she ever forgive me for being so reckless? I thought of the life I’d lived up to that point. Had it been worth anything? Would anyone remember me? Or would I die as just another meaningless speck in the universe, another statistic in a climbing book? I thought of Shane down below and our friends in the valley. What would he do if something happened to me? How would my friends react when he delivered the news to them?
These thoughts and more crossed my mind as I tumbled down Matthes Crest. Shane had been placing gear so hastily that I had no idea if whatever piece of gear he placed would catch me or just rip right out of the wall. If the gear failed, I would fall into the valley below to my death. As it turns out, the cam Shane placed did exactly what it should have done.
After 25 feet of falling, I felt a tremendous tug on my harness. The weight of my pack flipped me upside down. My head and back – protected respectively by my helmet and backpack – bashed into the wall as the rope halted my fall. I felt enormous amounts of pain run through my body. Surely I had broken something? Surely the rock had sliced massive gashes into my arms and legs?
As I came to, I realized that – despite the odds – I was surprisingly OK. My hips and ass hurt tremendously, so I knew I’d definitely bruised or pulled something. My arms stung: the rock shredded my shirt and left large cuts in my skin on the way down. I was dizzy from the impact of my helmet on the rock, but my head felt fine. The top of my pack had ripped open, causing my sunscreen and bug spray to tumble into the valley in which I almost fell. But, the rest of my body and my gear was intact.
Shane screamed at me from the ground: “ARE YOU OKAY?!?”
I thought about it for a second. “YES… I think so!” I screamed back at him.
Shaking my head, I pulled myself back onto the rock as the rain began to come down harder. I climbed back to the piece of gear that saved my life. I found a tiny 0.75 Black Diamond cam – barely an inch wide – with noticeable dents in it from catching my fall. Removing it from the wall, I thanked Shane and God for keeping me alive and clipped it to my harness. I was ready beyond belief to be back on the ground.
Bloody Face
Still shaken by the incident, I completed the downclimb in the pouring rain. Climbing wet rock is a sketchy, terrible time. Doing so after such a scary incident made it even worse.
Thankfully, I encountered no lightning on the way down. I slipped a few times on the wet rock, but – after several minutes of nervous but careful movement – I finally reached Shane on the ground at about 4 PM. He gave me a huge hug while I started crying and telling him how scared I’d been. He described how horrifying it’d been for him to watch me endure the incident, and told me how he’d ran in the opposite direction of the wall to remove as much slack from the rope as possible. I thanked him profusely for keeping a level head and – ultimately – saving my life thanks to his reaction time and gear placement.
As we talked, I noticed the musty taste of blood on the side of my mouth. Shane took a photo of me to show me what I looked like. Evidently, a piece of gear had whipped me in the face when the rope caught me. It left a large gash near my eye, which covered my face in blood. I looked surprisingly similar to Heath Ledger’s Joker.
As I calmed down and we packed our gear, the storm moved away. Shane offered to carry more of the gear pack, as my bruised hip made walking difficult. We donned our packs and began our journey back to the car. “Let’s go get f*cking drunk,” Shane said. Amen to that.
A Weary Return
Shane and I spent an hour descending from Matthes Crest on slippery rock and trudging our way through a mosquito-infested forest to reach the John Muir Trail. Once there, we encountered a family of hikers, to whom we recounted our misadventure. The dad of the family was fascinated by our story, so much so that he requested a picture with me. I rolled up my sleeves for the photo, showing off my very bloody arms. He thanked us, and the family moved along.
As we walked back to the car, we had no way to contact our friends in Yosemite Valley. Neither of us had service, and we didn’t know if or when we would. I hoped the remaining seven weren’t too worried about us, since I could have easily seen them sending out a search party.
We reached the car at about 7:30 and started driving back to the campground. The ride back was surprisingly energetic. Shane and I were so happy that we’d safely walked away from Matthes Crest that we excitedly sang along to songs in the car. We belted hits like Mulan‘s “I’ll Make a Man Out of You,” Moana‘s “You’re Welcome,” Billy Joel’s “Piano Man,” and Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” while we watched the sun set.
Back in Yosemite Valley
It was dark when we reached Site 69 at Upper Pines Campground. Aaron, Alex, Cody, Ian, Jack, Phillip, and Will all greeted us with relief, but were taken aback by the abundance of bandages on my face and arms. Shane and I ate dinner and drank bourbon while recounting the day to them. They admitted that – since it was so late in the day – they had considered contacting a ranger about us. If Shane and I had arrived much later, we may have encountered a rescue crew searching for us.
The evening was relaxing and a relief after the crazy day we had endured. Shane and I agreed that we were done with adventurous escapades for the trip, and that we’d stick with the group until leaving Yosemite. We wanted to enjoy the rest of our vacation without fearing for our lives again.
I looked over at Shane several times while we sat around the fire. I was grateful to have such a good friend willing to do crazy and adventurous sh*t with me. Though I wished we had stopped ourselves from climbing Matthes Crest earlier than we did, I was still happy that Shane had been there with me. Without him, we may not have been able to return to our friends or sip on the bourbon we now held. Life was good.
I couldn’t wait to see Maria again, to give her the biggest hug ever and tell her how much I love her.