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 Tuolumne
Meadows is in Yosemite National Park, but it's not really what
most people think about when they talk about Yosemite. Everybody
is interested in Yosemite Valley, a small congested loop road
that is best avoided during the high season. Tuolumne is the
higher altitude portion of the park, and is characterized by
huge, rolling domes of granite. Where the Valley has a National
Geographic touch, Tuolumne is perhaps initially the poor cousin.
That all changes though. During the summer, this altitude spells
relief from the oppresive heat. From a climbing standpoint, Tuolumne
granite is remarkably different in character from the Valley,
with a rough crystaline structure, and knoby surface. It is a
joy to climb, and of course, there is less traffic.
It's eastern entrance is almost 10,000
ft, so it follows that the park is closed from first snowfall
until late spring. We arrived for our first visit in the summer
of 1998, with climbing on the brain. The western desert portion
of our trip had been scary, so it was good to be on granite again.
With the short time that we had, Tom and I headed for West Crack,
on Daff Dome.
 Tuolumne
has a fierce reputation for stiff grading and bold runouts, and
this was no exception. After a circuitous approach to the base,
I found myself taken aback at the initial difficulty of the climb.
Apparently a popular climb, another party were racking up when
I finished the huge first pitch; a left leaning crack that peters
out into scariness before reaching anchors. The runout was heady,
and I enjoyed it from the safety of the anchor. Tom soon joined
me, and I pushed off for what was a ridiculous photo opportunity;
just above us was a short roof with monster holds. From there,
the climb followed a really long and featured hand crack that emerged from the
treeline and shadows onto a pristine face of yellowish white
stone. There were no ledges or stances for quite some distance,
and as my rack ran low, I began placing gear on a reward principle.
Twenty feet, another piece. Twenty feet, another piece. The interior
of the crack was rough and, having forgotten our tape, made a
bit of a mess of my hands. With what I had left, I set a hanging
belay. The position was fantastic.
The next pitch was of similar quality,
and emptied onto somewhat of a ledge. From there it was a hop,
skip, and jump to the baldness of Daff Dome. Summit poses ensued,
and we heartily congradulated ourselves on the undeniable style
and grace we had demonstrated.
 Then came
the matter of descent. We wandered for some time, looking to
each point of the compass for a clear and ready path. None was
found. Eventually we were joined by the ensuing party, and followed
their lead. Walking south, they came within a heartbeat of the
precipitous edge. Then they turned around and down climbed what
we had passed off as death incarnate. Sometimes my inability
to quickly process mental simulous pays off, and I emulated them
without further thought. I was laughing to myself at the ridicuolus
and commiting nature of the descent. Tom was not even slightly
amused. His deep rooted hate for this sort of risk found a new
home on the southern slope of Daff Dome. It was far more serious
in consequence than our ascent.
Climbers are a special brand of fools,
to be sure. |