Downclimbing the dome freaked me out more than the climb up. Like a nervous cat in a tree, I climbed down and up and back down one section fearful of the glacier polish and wet granite. Eventually we were on terra flatta and my palate was whetted.

The next day I attempted to snooze as we drove to "The Valley," what I always knew as Yosemite. But it's all Yosemite park and part is Tuolomne at 8.5K feet and The Valley what with itıs El Cap and half dome is around 3.5K.

We ran into Kurt and Elaina from Austin as they were letting their contraband dog run in the meadow. I guess keeping a dog is like keeping rotisserie chickens in your tent as we saw very few dogs and couldnıt imagine having the worrisome pugs at the bottom of some 5 pitch climb as we 'round a corner out of sight.

All dog talk aside, (and how I could go on), it was our first time to lay eyes on what we had seen dozens of pictures of, heard and read gazillions of stories, anecdotes and myths of — the El captain (as David Phillips would say). In a word, amazing.

We only saw one party on it. I looked up decided right there that one day I too would climb El Cap.

We got some grub and I nursed a waning headache before we headed to the Nutcracker. I took the first lead and was crying like a baby as my feet were killing me. I thought my shoes were too big so I stuffed them in my new Megas with some thick ass wool socks. Wrong answer. My feet cramped up. Similar to that dreaded feeling some people get while swimming … those wicked arch cramps. You know the ones. Well, my whole foot cramped up. I hung on gear and cried and climbed and cried and finally set a belay and removed the shoes. Suzie and Chad sprinted up the crack and Chad literally ran up the ramp pitch that followed.

It was my turn to lead again, another crack and one of my tooth hurt with each breath of cool mountain air. "I think one of my tooth is rotted," (sic) I exclaimed as I busted the stem of the first move of the third pitch.

About 30-40 feet up I was crying again and just wanted to hang. Chad offered to lead it … so I let him.

Hot on our tail was a couple from Manhattan Beach. We exchanged niceties. Being a regular Alex Einstein I removed my socks and all but fixed my foot cramp problem.

Chad belayed Suz and I up, and asked if I wanted the next pitch. ³Itıs not as hard as the last one, but harder to protect.² I soon saw Š. On TopRope.

"Do you want the glory pitch?" Suz asked. Sure what the fuck, just one move, some mantel on a roof. Chad led it once and backed off the second time, he told us.

I crawled up to the roof, placed the appropriate gear, did the funky stemming perscribed by Chad and hit the big jug of which he spoke. Damn. OK, I was ready to pull the mantle as I yarded my shoulders past the lip of the ledge, and just as I was about to act on the thought, Chad yelled up: "Donıt throw a foot, pull the mantle first." Shit, that tripped me out. Now what? I straight-armed and tried to relax while I got psyched up for the real move. I looked back at the hybrid Alien down past my feet. I looked up to the slot I would eventually cam a couple of fingers into as I topped the mantle and then I did it and was traversing to a friendlier more protectable area of the climb.

The rest of the climb was gravy and we hiked down the backside heading back to the meadows.

Chad was talking about Fairview Dome, but it was shit ass cold in the morning when we got up so we headed for the low profile dome. Easy climbing. A couple parties were already there, including Fred Beckey on a 5.6 I was about to lead up.

There were some lesbianesque jackasses on a 5.10 next to us. The one woman ran it up before we showed, the next woman, after much ado about standard moves, ended up hanging under the roof swinging like a paralyzed piñata blowing in the storm. Granted, it was only a 5.6 I was leading, but a run out 5.6 and what with the maelstrom of despairing cries, "I can't do this … AHHHH!" I was about to respond, "Not with that attitude you won't." But I bit my tongue for the disharmonious displeasure and the transparent veneer of glad tidings with other climbers. You donıt have to read between the lines to know that I was glad when they short-roped Mz. Brutish Clod down the hill.

Suzie jumped on the Darth Vader's revenge, placed some pieces and down climbed before the much-committed moves. The moves were all there, but the second piece of pro was a little shoddy due to the angle the nut held in the horizontal crack. A bolt protected one of the sweetest moves I had done all weekend, as there were Snicker bar sized crystals embedded halfway into the rock, some creating incut-type ledges, others mere slopers, but a high left hand to a chunk of granite nugget was enough to crank up on and place a right toe on a crystal to rock on to the foot in true slab fashion. It was awesome: a moderate amount of power, a dose of balance and bong hit of commitment was all it took until I was sitting at my next bolt.

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