Stone Master's Gone

I grew up in the mid '70s exploring the rocky outcropping in the west San Fernando Valley known as Stoney Point. Back then, a talented climber by the name of John Bachar was already turning heads and inspiring awe there. Although I knew him only from a distance, he quickly became a role model for me and a generation of young climbers who were finding our way into adulthood as much as we were finding our way up rocks. On the surface, John was impressive from the beginning. On the rock, he had a style like no other and physical strength that often seemed super-human. On more than one occasion, I found myself scratching my head after watching him scale some absolutely blank boulder, trying to work out how he so effortlessly achieved what I'd just witnessed.

But it was his radical free-climbing ethic that really captivated an entire generation of budding climbers, myself included. His almost-holy reverence for the rock, his unique communion with every face or crack he encountered, was the real secret of his gift and it changed the way I approached climbing. Climbing became more a dance, a balancing act of control - both mental and physical - a meditation, really. John was the ultimate "Stone Master".

I don't believe in coincidences, so when I heard of John's death the same week I was planning to return to Yosemite after many years away from climbing, I took it as a sign. It was a hint from the Universe to be careful, to be humble in the presence of stone, and to pass on the gems I'd learned from John to my 15-year-old son, as we explore the magic contained in Yosemite granite on our first trip there together. I, for one, will say a prayer or two for John in the valley that meant so much to him.

John, I hope the crags in heaven are ready for you. I know you're ready for them.

You are sorely missed.