Climbing Mount Improbable With an Autistic Son

Author's note: This article was written by my good friend, Jim Dover.

What’s the expression? “Third time’s a charm?” 

Since our first trip to "the incomparable valley" in 2005, I've wanted to hike to the summit of Half Dome with my son, Carl.

One of Carl’s doctors asked me why I want to take him up there, and what fear I think Carl wants to overcome, or what I think he wants to accomplish. To those questions, I have no answer.

I don’t know why I want to take him up there, or if he has any desire to be on top of Half Dome. I don’t know if he has any memory of our previous attempts, or if he remembers what he had for lunch yesterday. 

There’s a lot I don’t know about Carl’s interior life. What I do know about him is that he’s game for almost anything I do with him — he will apparently do whatever I do and go wherever I go.

Although the hike is described as "extremely strenuous," the cables to the summit look easy enough.

Look at any collection of photos on the Internet, and you will see dozens
of people on the cables at the same time, looking for all the world as if they
were in line for a ride at Disneyland; but it’s not a ride. 

People have died on Half Dome — in 2007, 2009 and just two days before our attempt this year, when they slipped from the cables and slid off the side of the rock some 600 feet to their deaths.

What the pictures don’t show is how exposed you are and how steep and slippery the rock face is. If you lose your footing and the cables slip out of your hands, there is little that will arrest your fall. And you might actually knock someone else off at the same time.

In 2006, Carl and I never even made it to the cables. I took one look at the approach trail up the sub-dome and bailed out. 

Last year, we made it half way up before Carl stopped walking—he just stopped and became a dead weight attached to my harness, unwilling to take another step.

No encouragement from me or the people around us would get him any higher. I was disappointed but honestly a little relieved — did I mention I’m afraid of heights? It’s heady stuff being on the cables route.

So this year, I was bound and determined to make it. 

I started rock climbing about a year ago — still afraid of heights, but doing some very hard, exposed climbing, and I’ve acquired experience with the equipment that makes climbing possible. 

I was prepared and confident that we would be safe — and I made a point of talking with Carl about the system I had devised and the safety it afforded us. 

I never really know what Carl understands but, oddly, he looked right at me while I spoke — something he rarely does. Honestly, it was a little unnerving.

Carl wore a climbing seat harness and a chest harness.  These were connected to each other with a spring loaded locking carabiner — you have to twist the gate while simultaneously pushing up to open it, something which would be difficult for Carl to absent-mindedly or deliberately accomplish. 

To this carabiner I had girth-hitched a 48 inch nylon sling, which was also girth hitched to an identical spring loaded locking carabiner attached to my harness. Carl wasn’t going anywhere I wasn’t going. 

For extra protection, I was using a third carabiner attached to a pair of nylon slings girth hitched together to the locking carabiner on my harness. 

With this sling and carabiner, I would clip into the cables — only unclipping to move past each stanchion. If Carl fell, he’d do so only until he came taught to me.  If he pulled me from my footing, we’d only fall as far as the next stanchion on the cables.  We were in no real danger and I was confident of that — I had no real concerns about our safety.

We drove to the valley on August 1 with no reservations and no real idea where he’d spend the night before or after the hike. While driving through Yosemite I saw “FULL” signs at every campground. Knowing that there was a backpacker’s campground at North Pines, we drove there hoping to find some kind soul who would let us spread out our sleeping bags for the night. 

Who we found, the first and only person we spoke with, was a young man named Andrew. Andrew is a 19 year old Cal Poly student and a volunteer with the park service.  He got us a place to camp and let me park my truck near his campsite to save us the hassle of schlepping back and forth to the Curry Village parking lot. 

Providence worked through him, and we are much in his debt.  Andrew told us that the camp ranger was "cool," and that as long as we paid for the campsite we used -- it cost $10 -- she’d be OK with us not having the wilderness permit required to use the campsite. 

I asked if he’d get into trouble and he replied, “They can’t fire me—I’m a volunteer.” 

What we later learned from one of his friends is that the ranger might be "cool," but that she is a real stickler for checking wilderness permits — had she asked to see our non-existent permit we might have been sent packing.

After a poor sleep, we awoke at 4 a.m. and got to the trailhead near Happy Isles at 5:45 am.  The hike was relatively uneventful — Carl hiked well and even seemed to have a little more push than last year. 

He also seemed a little more adventurous—he balance-beamed a fallen tree across a stream, just as I had done, instead of simply stepping over the water. 

I was encouraged that we might just make it this time. 

I had the feeling that Carl might have been too tired last year, so we stopped every hour for about 15 minutes — and I promised him we’d wait at the base of the cables until at least 11 am before casting off on the final push.

At almost 11 a.m. on August 2, fully harnessed and ready, we set off. 

Last year, Carl followed me, so I thought I’d let him do the pace setting this year. Carl seemed to be doing fine until his feet started to slip as the rock became steeper — about a third of the way up.  At this point I began to understood that Carl isn't afraid of heights per se, but that he doesn’t like it when his feet slip — anywhere! 

I’ve noticed this on easy hikes with him.  He’ll step on a gravel-covered stone and all forward motion will cease if his foot slips — regardless of height or steepness of terrain.  He just wants his feet to be well planted! Fair enough.  Carl got to a point where he just couldn’t get traction for his boots.

I was looking right at his boots from below and behind, watching them slide, and he didn’t seem to understand that he could simply pull up on the cables with his hands past these parts — and at this point, he was done, the climb was over, and we turned around.

I had brought a beer for myself and a soda for Carl — for the summit celebration. We sat at the base of the cables and contemplated another failed attempt. Well, I contemplated. Carl? Who knows?

The beer was warm and flavorless. I drank about half of it before pouring the rest on the ground. Carl’s soda, however, seemed to meet with his approval just fine. Truth be told, the cables route wigged me out more than a little bit, and knowing that I’d climbed a far harder route on Tahquitz rock just three days before didn’t seem to quell the unease I felt while looking up at the cables. 

As I said, it’s heady being up there. It gets to you. After 30 minutes, I decided that we might as well give it another try — we were there, so why not?

So, we clipped into the cables and set off — this time with me in the lead. When we got to "Carl’s crux," we breezed through it — he didn’t miss a beat. I can only assume that being short-roped to me gave him just enough confidence that the slipping of his boots never lasted long enough to worry him. 

He never whined or stopped or hesitated — just kept coming. As we approached the part of the trail that starts to ease off, I could barely speak — I was so proud of him. We were on top soon after taking pictures and laughing.  Well, I was laughing and smiling—Carl was just being Carl. 

I truly had, and have, no idea what he thought or felt — happy, relieved, proud, blasé? I haven’t a clue.  We spent almost no time at the summit.

Later, people asked if we’d stood on the "diving board" or "the visor," and I said,
"No."  It hadn’t even occurred to me, and I can’t explain why.

But now we had to get down — luckily, we’ve had some experience getting down the cables.  Last year, Carl slid down on his butt — lots of traction? This year, he devised a new method. Still clipped into me and both of us clipped into the cables, Carl sat on his haunches in a squat and glissaded down the rock face.

It was riotously funny to watch — that is, until he glissaded both boots under one
of the wooden 2-by-4 steps on the route.  “Oh, come on! How the hell am I supposed to get his boots out from under the step when he won’t stand up and can’t walk backwards up the rock?”  Not to worry, someone climbing the cables helped support him while I got his feet out. I don’t really remember how we did it, but we did.

And that was it. It was over. We’d done it, and we were safe. We only then had to hike 8 miles back to the valley floor, find a place to spend the night and drive home the next day.

One last thing about the cables. The people on the cables with us were very understanding. It's as if they all, every single one, understood how big of a deal this was for Carl.  While we descended, they would patiently wait for us to pass—never offended by the fact that Carl would monopolize the cables, unwilling to share them with anyone unless forced to switch both hands to one side so someone could pass.  People are good. For all of my complaining about "the great unwashed" of our society, people are good.

After eating at Curry Cafeteria — a truly un-memorable meal — I decided I’d drive until I got to a hotel or until I got tired.  It didn’t take long. We were still in the park when I thought it might be prudent to stop and shut my eyes for a while.

I hadn’t even been driving an hour, and it was barely 9 p.m., but I pulled over. The next thing I knew, it was 1 a.m., and then 4 a.m. 

Sleeping in the driver’s seat of a pickup is no fun and not particularly restful! After coffee in Oakhurst and breakfast in Fresno, we made the long, arduous trek down the San Joaquin valley to home.

I will never know if Carl is happy we gained the summit of Half Dome, and that bothers me. I want him to someday tell me, “That was cool, Dad.”  I’d even settle for, “What the hell were you thinking? I almost crapped my pants.”