We arrived in Yosemite Valley with an uncertain weather forecast and high hopes that the weather would shift overnight. The original goal was the Salathé Wall on El Capitan. However, for me, the priority was simple: an adventure in the vertical world. As we entered the valley, our cell service gradually disappeared, signaling the need to step away from overanalyzing and embrace the decisions ahead of us. We rolled into the campsite, greeted by friends ready for a shared adventure. Knowing rain was forecast for the following day, Drew and Brandon stashed their gear in the bathroom for safekeeping. Jon and I also carried down far too much gear.

That night, as I lay in the tent, the silence of the valley transformed into the rhythmic sound of rain hitting the fabric. We knew then that the Salathé Wall was no longer an option, but every one of us was determined to stand on top of El Capitan. Not climbing simply wasn’t on the table. By morning, we were packing up our gear and brainstorming alternatives in Jon’s yellow Sprinter van, affectionately named Margo. After some debate, we settled on Lurking Fear, a route on the west face of El Cap with 20 pitches, many of which involved technical C2 aid climbing and creative problem-solving. By 1:30 p.m., the decision was made, a photo of the route was taken, and we began packing our bags.

We had spent three months preparing for the Salathé Wall, memorizing every pitch, dividing up leads, and planning where to sleep each night. Now, with just 20 minutes of preparation, we found ourselves hiking the approach to Lurking Fear, rain still lightly falling. The weight of our 80-pound packs quickly reminded us of the physical demands ahead, and jokes about training the wrong muscles were exchanged along the way.

The approach was straightforward but grueling, culminating in a fixed rope section. Drew tackled the rope first, setting the tone for the rest of us. One by one, we worked through the challenge, knowing the only option was to push forward and start climbing.

Jon kicked off the climb, leading a hooking pitch with generously spaced bolts, and we made good progress despite the cracks being wet from the storm. That night, we set up our portaledges 200 feet off the ground, committed to a ground-up ascent. The weather held, and we fell asleep excited for the adventure ahead.

The next day began with a surprise as a climber politely asked to pass through our setup. We packed up camp and got to work. I led three C2 pitches, including one that challenged my creativity. The section involved a far-reaching move that my friends solved using an improvised tool, but I had to rely on precise placement and determination to succeed. Carefully setting a hook, testing it, and finally reaching the bolt felt like a triumph.

Jon took over and cruised through crack systems, his enthusiasm echoing through the valley. As we progressed, the technical challenges continued, from hauling stuck bags to navigating complex traverses. By nightfall, we set up another hanging camp, sharing stories and marveling at the views as the sun set over Yosemite.

The next day brought a mix of calm and intensity. We climbed steadily to a comfortable ledge at pitch 14, preparing for a predicted storm. Dinner that night was simple but satisfying as we mentally prepared for what lay ahead. When the storm finally arrived, we hunkered down, staying warm and dry as the rain poured down the wall. Life slowed to a rare simplicity—rest, warmth, and patience became our only priorities.

When the storm eased after several hours, we climbed toward Thanksgiving Ledge, a spacious and welcoming spot just two pitches from the summit. Reaching it at sunset felt like a celebration in itself. We reflected on the journey so far, sharing stories and a few treats before settling in for the night.

On the final day, I led the last two pitches to the summit. The final haul was physically demanding, but the sense of accomplishment carried us through. As we pulled over the top, the reality set in—our journey wasn’t over yet. We still had to descend safely. The trek down was slow and deliberate, each step requiring focus and care. Drew had a close call with a falling rock, but we all made it back to the car in one piece, where the real celebration began.