Second pitch (of 27), 10 a.m.:I got scared... At the first belay station, there were some nice distractions, like a black bear that lumbered past beneath me. Then Ivo accidentally dropped his tobacco and lighter, which bounced off my helmet. I was overworking like crazy, hanging on with my arms at the belay station instead of leaning back to trust the gear the way the pros do. I belayed Jimmy as he led the next two pitches (done as one), marveling that, even though he hadn't aid-climbed in years (he'd been spending a lot of time on big, cold mountains recently), he was jumping boldly into the Pacific Ocean.

The wall's overhanging nature became apparent as I struggled to get out of belay stations when it was my turn to jug. From the ground, the wall's outward push was just a neck-straining curiosity, but now it meant I had no contact with the rock and total dependence on a rope as I climbed. I knew the consequences of falling had not increased—a fall from 75 feet (partway up the first pitch) would have killed me just as surely as a fall from 200 feet (somewhere in the second pitch). But I was starting to think about such things as I'd swing out into space and flail at jugging the ropes.

My technique sucked. My arms were getting worked—my left one eventually went numb—and my movements were slow and jerky. I was perplexed and thought my skills from mountaineering should've helped more here. Hadn't I used ascenders successfully to get myself and others out of crevasses? Hadn't I pushed them up thousands upon thousands of feet of fixed line on all those Himalayan trips? Sure, that had been mostly with my feet on the ground, and all the vertical bits had been short (if spectacularly placed), but it seemed like I should get some kind of break.