Wings on His Feet . . . A Tribute to John Bachar

John Gill

Across the dinner table sits Largo, like a young Dionysus, handsome and muscular with curly locks and a bright smile, saying something witty and confident as he finishes a brew. To Largo’s right sits a quiet young Hermes, bemused by the chatter that flows casually from his fellow Olympian. Long blond hair touches his tanned shoulders. The god of athletes and swift messenger of Zeus’s tribe, even during the mid 1970s  Bachar inspires others to “lose themselves within themselves” as they attempt to emulate his graceful and disciplined moves
 . . . wings on his feet.

Earlier that day the three of us had driven across the southern Colorado prairie on our way to one of my secret areas, a depression along the Huerfano River known informally as “Lost Canyon.” The landscape passed by, dry and brown and undulating slightly to the horizon. Dionysus remarked—from his perspective as a former divinity student at Claremont College—that it’s a miracle I would discover climbing in this barren wasteland.

Both Largo and Bachar had seen Pat Ament’s film Silent Climber and were eager to try the Juggernaut and other treats I had prepared, so I parked on the edge of the short canyon and we hiked down to the first prominent boulder. My guests warmed up on Penny Ante Rock, and then we waded through the quicksand of the Huerfano to reach the far shore.

In those days, before the appearance of crash pads, it was ethically acceptable to put up a toprope on high or otherwise dangerous problems, and the Juggernaut could be a back-breaker. Rigged up, the two gods amused themselves (and me) swinging about on the small but well-defined holds on a pure hand traverse beneath the Juggernaut’s overhanging prow. After a few preparatory attempts – upon which Dionysus found the rope to be his trusty friend -  the young Hermes brought both hands onto the hold beneath the tip of the prow, pulled up on one arm, reached high with the other and swiftly moved upward
. . . wings on his feet.

After the preliminary muscular gymnastics of the Juggernaut, I led my two companions into a small side canyon deliberately left unexplored: my gift to these emissaries from the sacred heights of Camp 4. Here aerial dynamics were the challenge, and once more, Hermes was up to the task, floating in space for an instant before locking on to a high handhold. His companion Dionysus, though heavier, performed admirably as well. 
 
As we finished dinner, I thought what an honor it had been to host these extraordinary young men--links to the future, and, as time would tell, a climbing world to be graced by the athletic achievements and writings of Dionysus and shocked into re-alignment by the swift ascension of Hermes . . . wings on his feet. 

On a subsequent trip, Bachar returned to Lost Canyon and was the first to climb the Juggernaut without a rope from above - demonstrating the talent, focus, and perspective that illuminated paths once thought improbable by the mainstream.

ALL ARE ONE . . . For The Teton Bouldering Project

John Gill

A soft breeze across Jenny Lake,
A clap of the hands and chalk particles floating away,
Fifty years ago seems so close . . .
The shiny stone with all the familiar holds unchanged,
Intact, oblivious to the distractions of time ...

Some who have climbed here are gone,
Like the forest duff that gently coats the rock . . .
They return in memories . . . 

And how playgrounds have changed!
Slides and swings give way to vertical challenges,
Overhangs that quicken the heart ...
Problems that require focus and commitment
To unveil their energetic solutions. . .

From the cold icy rock of the Grand's north wall,
To the warm smooth stone of the Jenny Lake boulders,
To the charm of the Jackson Bouldering Park . . . all are one.