Stranded on Half Dome
by John “Deuce” Middendorf
(as told to Amy Givler)
“I loved pushing myself to the edge. Was I pushing God away too?”
I’d always thought you had to be a little cocky to be a mountain climber. Especially if you’re someone who likes to tackle the “big walls” – rock faces 2,000 feet or taller. You need to believe in yourself 100 percent. In the two-and-a-half years that I’d lived in Yosemite Valley, I’d spent hundreds of hours on near-vertical surfaces. Climbing made me feel alive like nothing else in my life did.
In early March of 1986, my buddies Steve Bosque and Mike Corbett invited me on a winter ascent of the treacherous south face of Half Dome. Storms usually kept climbers off Half Dome’s sheer granite walls until June, but this season had been extra mild. All we needed was a four-day stretch of good weather.
On the morning of our departure, the radio announced clear skies for the following week. With a 100-pound pack of gear, I joined Mike and Steve on the trail leading to the cliff.
“That’s a heavy load, Deuce,” Mike said. “Why don’t you let me carry some?”
“No sweat. I can handle it.” As far as I was concerned, I could handle anything.
The approach to Half Dome wound through tall pine forests and past pounding waterfalls. The gorgeous scenery brought me back to the summer when I turned 14. Up until then I had been a timid kid, accustomed to getting bullied and teased at school. My parents though a summer at climbing camp might give my self-confidence a boost. Little did they suspect how right they were. After that, everything changed for me. I became a self-sufficient guy who thrived on challenges. Struggling up mountainsides, pressing on long after my body wanted to quit, I realized I didn’t need help from anybody or anything.
That definitely included God. My image of God was an old man with a beard and a book of rules. Another voice telling me I didn’t qualify. In nature, testing my body to its limits, pushing myself to the edge one hundred percent, I made my own rules.
Finally, the approach to Half Dome was over and the actual climb began. Gazing at the 2,000 feet of granite above me, I marveled at how smooth it looked. Up close the rock had small cracks and ledges – just enough for a climber to edge a finger or toe into. The first two days were bright and warm, and brought us to the top of the Arch, a seam that ran along the midpoint of the wall. From here on out, we would be on near-vertical rock, edging our way up inch by careful inch.
It was crucial that the weather continue to hold. According to our transistor radio, that wasn’t a problem. We made good progress and by evening were higher than most skyscrapers. Only another 700 feet or so remained between us and the peak.
In order to be able to sleep on the wall, we’d brought along portaledges – light nylon-and-metal cots that hung from small anchors wedged into the rock. Steve, Mike and I pulled sweaters on over our T-shirts and settled in for the night. Everything had gone perfectly so far. Lying on my cot, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been almost too easy.
We awoke in the pre-dawn hours. A light rain was falling.
“Hey,” Mike shouted from his portaledge. “The radio didn’t say anything about this.”
We set up our plastic rainflys, turning our hanging perches into makeshift tents, and went back to sleep.
When we stuck our heads out at daybreak, the rain was still coming down. I turned on the radio.
“It says the clouds’ll blow away by this evening,” I called to the guys.
“Let’s take a rest day then,” Mike called back. At first I balked. We were so close to the top. Who wanted to rest now? But we all knew how miserable climbing a sheer rock face in wet weather could be.
By afternoon, the “light rain” had turned into a downpour. We hunkered down for a nasty night.
The wind rose, making our aluminum cots sway and thump violently against the rock. Our portaledges were delicate contraptions, and before long all three of us were wrestling with twisted ropes and facing the danger of being spilled into the black void beneath us. Deep in the night, my rainfly collapsed. A steady stream of water flowed down from the rock face above, drenching what little of my gear was still dry.
At dawn the next day the wind kicked up even more, and the rain turned to stinging pellets of hail, then heavy snow. Steve’s rainfly was ripped away completely, and he was forced to take shelter with Mike. Not that Mike and I were dry inside our own rainflys. Water had long since seeped through everything.
“This is getting serious,” Steve said. “We’ve got to get back down before we freeze to death.”
Steve was right – but how were we going to move in these conditions? Thanks to the sudden drop in temperature, our rain-soaked gear was now all frozen solidly in place. Half Dome’s surface had become a four-inch-thick ice field. The three of us were drained. If I’d been looking for the edge – for a situation that would put me to the ultimate test – I’d gotten my wish at last. Where could I turn for help?
Suddenly, my mind went back to climbing camp – to being 14 years old and up on a rock face for the first time. My legs were cramping, my fingers were giving out, and I knew that everyone on the ground below was looking at me, waiting for me to fail. Somehow, against all my expectations, I had triumphed over that first terrifying experience. At the last minute, some secret source of strength had gotten me through. Up till right now, I’d always thought that strength had lain within me. Now I realized that it came from something, or someone, else. The God I thought I didn’t need had been with me all along, one hundred percent. I felt him now like I had never felt any power before.
A wave of peace flowed through me. I closed my eyes to the cliff face and the blinding snow, and prayed. God, please help us to get down. We can’t do it without you.
“Hey, what’s that down there?” Mike yelled.
He pointed to the spot far below that we’d started out from days earlier. It was hard to tell through all the snow, but it looked like a small group of people was gathered there.
“Help! Help!” We yelled until we were hoarse, but there was no telling whether the people could see us. Before long they vanished.
“Not like they could have helped us anyhow,” Mike said. “With all this ice, no one’s coming from below or above.” Wet snow kept piling up on our portaledges, so fast and so heavy that it threatened to tip them over at any minute. Again and again, we kicked it off before it could do so, continuing this exhausting routine for hours. Dusk was approaching. But tired as we were, sleep was not an option. If we lost consciousness we might not wake up again.
Sometime in the darkness, the snow relented. After midnight, the wind died down and, for the first time all day, there was silence.
“Deuce,” Steve called. “The stars are out.”
I stuck my head out of the fly. It was an awesome, reassuring sight. For all the misery of our situation, I still had to give a prayer of thanks.
When dawn came, the temperature rose to a few degrees above freezing. The comparative warmth brought a little relief for us, but a new problem as well. Ice from the cliff face above, freed by the thaw, began to pelt down. Most of the chunks were no bigger than snowballs, but some were the size of car doors. A direct hit from one of those would sweep us away instantly. Looking east, I spotted more storm clouds. Closing my eyes, I once again asked for God’s protection. Again, I felt that mysterious calm.
Mike’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” I strained my ears. There it was: a helicopter.
The three of us burst into whoops and cheers. Soon a rescue chopper was beating the air above us. I watched in amazement as the pilot kept it steady in the gusty conditions, the propellers coming within yards of the cliff face.
Please, God, don’t let him hit the cliff, I prayed, as much for the pilot as for us.
The helicopter opened and a man on a tether descended. Mike was the first one off the ledge, then Steve. Finally my turn came. The man on the tether slid a harness under my arms, and a second later I swung away from the rock face, free at last.
On the ground, I learned that those dim figures we’d seen the day before had organized the rescue.
After years of chasing thrills, I’d gotten what I always wanted – a trip right to the edge. And there, I found the last thing I had expected: the love of a God I thought I’d left behind for good.
