"Flagging" - A Rescuer's Account of the El Capitan Rescues
October 19 to 22, 2004
Yosemite Valley, El Capitan
A first-hand account of blazing the way through the storm for the dramatic El Capitan rescues of October, 2004.
Yosemite, October 19th, 2004We’ve lost the trail again. Wet snow stings my face as I post hole back to the last piece of flagging. Visibility is dropping, and my pink marker is already out of site just a hundred feet back. There, found it. Whipping in the wind, it’s tied to a snag where the trail leaves some trees. Ok, start over, where does it go from here… come on, think, I was just here a week ago sweating in the sun.
The radio strapped to my chest squawks something about the team on the Nose, and I make out Brandon’s voice through the static. “It’s totally socked in. Our last view was a hour ago, and they hadn’t moved.” He must be eyeing the face from below, trying to catch a glimpse through the storm.
They’re dead, they’ve got to be, there’s no way, not in this. We need to move faster. What about the other parties, the team on Salathe, those guys over by Lurking Fear? No one expected this, three days of rain turning to snow. Everyone on the wall is getting hammered. It went from summer to winter overnight.
The snow turns back to rain, then to hale, then back to snow again. Just like the gusting wind, it can’t make up its mind. I’m back on the trail now, flagging trees as I slog up the snow covered ridge. My hands are freezing, gloves soaked through, and every time I stop to fumble with the pink tape I’m urged to press on. Forget the flagging, hurry, just get to the top. But there’s nothing we can do from the summit tonight, not in this crap. All that matters now is marking our breadcrumb path through the white-out so others can follow. Flag another tree.
They’re Japanese, the party on the Nose, just like the party twenty years ago. They’re a pitch above Camp 6, just a few pitches from the top of El Cap, the absolute wrong place at the absolute wrong time. Why weren’t we here yesterday? We didn’t know. No one asked for help. But should we have known? Should we have been watching out for them? Who’s “we?” Other climbers? The government? It doesn’t matter, we’re too late.
They got themselves into this. Climbing is dangerous, everyone knows that. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t do it. Climbing is about accepting risk, sticking your neck out. It’s about being scared, living on the edge. Without that edge it’s not climbing. The best stories are those of self reliance. The closer to the limit, to failure, to death, the better.
Bull. Climbing is about watching out for your buddy, depending on each other, helping your partner, teamwork. It’s about controlling danger, keeping it in check, saving each other from failure, from death. The best stories are those of rescue. We should have known. We should have been here yesterday.
The debate circles in my head while I search for the trail. It’s getting dark, and we’re still four miles from the summit. “I think it’s over here!” Jim calls over the wind, barely visible through the snow. He’s still fumbling with the flagging when Scott and I catch up. We’re spinning our wheels. The light is going, and we’re freezing, cold enough to cut through the ego. The smartest thing to do is find a bivy for the night and keep flagging ahead of the other teams at first light.
Scenarios play out in my head as we try to build a fire. Soon the conversation turns to stories of our own epics, stormy nights in a porta-ledge, rock fall, running out of food. We smile at our tales of pain, one-upping each other’s stories of discomfort, but inevitably the humor fades, and these stories turn back to questions about the one unfolding in front of us. Weather, equipment, time… by morning dozens of people will be following our trail. I hope we’re not too late.
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Lincoln Else works with Yosemite's rescue team and has served as the park's climbing ranger. He grew up in California and learned to climb in Tuolumne Meadows when he was twelve. |
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