Just some rainy Sunday nostalgia and a tribute/homage to John Bachar and Michael Reardon. It's adapted from a thread where a friend of John Bachar asked for stories from Bachar's life and times.
I grew up in SoCal and as a teenager spent a bunch of weekends at J-Tree in the late 70s & early 80s.
One of the shiny stars in that universe was watching Bachar work his solo circuit in Hidden Valley Campground. He would float effortlessly and rhythmically up 10s and 11s, then drift lightly down 9s, 8s, and 7s. Even down climbing, his movements were so precise and certain that watching each step down was a bit like seeing with the eyes what the "thunk" of a shutting car door feels like to the ears. Only later, climbing up some of those lines, did I painfully realize they were not stair steps or ladder rungs.
A decade later, visiting from Colorado, climbing with my brother, on a brilliant 70-plus degree News Years Eve day in 1992, we finished a fun afternoon in Echo Cove. Suddenly, the moody, drifting sounds of bar lounge saxaphone flowed through the air--and vividly demonstrated how Echo Cove got its name. About 30 yards away was a long haired blond stick figure, swaying as if accompanying a fairy tale, playing pied piper to the climbers trekking back to their cars. "Happy New Year!" I shouted, but the piper ignored me, and kept piping out the cheer.
Maybe 12 or 13 years after that, on a trip with my college age daughter Natalie, and high school age son, in Hidden Valley Camp Ground's waning light, I stumble into a circle of climbing royalty, including Chris Sharma, Boone Speed, Michael Reardon, and John Bachar. I hastily withdraw before the (mental) bouncers move in. But later, at a dive taco stand in town, Bachar and Reardon are sitting there eating Special # 5 almost as if they are mortal. I grab some thoughts and approach a shorter haired, but still Jesus-featured Bachar. I tell him I appreciate his stand and his courage in preserving the values and traditions of historic climbing. I say something lame about how even if the sport and bolting revolution happened, the face of climbing is different because of what he did and said over the years.
He listens attentively and graciously, thanks me, and talks about trying to make a difference, and about young and old climbers that understand a better vision even if it's not appreciated everywhere by everyone.
Incidentally, while Bachar was gracious and kind, Michael Reardon was positively smothering in friendliness. And talkative. We talked about the movies he made, his libertarian politics, and why my daughter should go to his alma mater UCLA for law school. (She did…but I could never get that slacker to call Michael R, to talk about different law opportunities, or to call J-Tree mayor and old friend Todd Gordon to hook up for some climbing.) A few times after that, when I emailed Reardon, he answered with a longer, passionate essay about whatever topic I raised. It occurred to me that he could solo 5.12 and harder because he simply lived life at a 5.12 pace, with 5.12 energy.
Some years ago, I called my daughter into my home office and showed her the online reports that Reardon had been swept away by a "rogue wave" off Scotland or Ireland. Though only marginally connected to climbing, she felt a personal loss. Then a time later, I called her in and showed her the headline about Bachar's death. She paused and felt that one, too; not because she knew much about either man's climbing, but because she had encountered their humanity.
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