The Valley... What can be said that haven't already been heard?

Back in the eighties in Denmark only two or three climbers had ever been to this fabled place, and only one had actually completed an El Cap route. As an aspiring climber with little experience these pilgrims were to me so revered, so untouchable, that I barely could look them in the eye. I read their stories in the Mountain Clubs bimonthly magazine over and over again. In fact, I read everything I could find in the Club library about The Valley.

I was completely absorbed by dreams of climbing the flawless granite splitters myself. I owned the yellow guide book years before I gained enough confidence to consider going, and had memorized every pitch on the Nose, knew every 5.10 by name. Harding, Robbins, Pratt, Bridwell, Bachar, Long, they were all my heroes.

By the time I left for my own pilgrimage in 1989, still no other danish climbers had gone. With just a few books and the occasional article in the british magazine 'Mountain' as the only resources, I felt like a pioneer. No Goggle searches, no email. Despite my sky high expectations, seeing El Cap for the first time at the exit of the Wawona Tunnel was mind boggling. That first visit from late April to sometime in July still stands as one of the most magical, most amazing times of my life. For me it was truly like a odyssey to the inner most sanctum of climbing.

Ahh, how impressionable ones youth can be. The enthusiasm, the energy. I have a hard time imagining reliving such emotions today, now having become a disillusioned, cynical grump. Even though the more I read about Arapiles...