Chuck Pratt Memorial
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March 5, 1939 to December 16, 2000

Copyright (c) by Steve Roper

Chuck Pratt and I had been strangers for the past few decades, he in Wyoming or Thailand, and me locked into California. Of his last years I know little. Yet, strangely, I had been thinking about him a lot during the two months before his death. Doing a mini-profile of him for Chris McNamara's forthcoming guidebook to classic Yosemite climbs, my brain erupted with memories. Just a month ago I finished my allotted 800 words, knowing full well that these barely touched upon his life. But maybe modern climbers don't know about some of his feats during the 1960s, so here is my paltry profile, with a few words to follow.

Anyone who saw Chuck Pratt work a route was humbled. I first met him at Indian Rock, in Berkeley, in late 1957. Strong, short, modest, smart, he moved deliberately up radical overhangs where others thrashed, screamed, fell. But this was mainly face climbing. Where Pratt really excelled was in cracks, as I found out too many times over the next fifteen years. Pratt, the first consistent 5.10 climber in North America, is a national treasure.

As a kid Pratt devoured mountaineering books in a Salt Lake City library, then experimented with clothesline and lag screws on local rocks. Soon his parents made a fortunate decision--at least for Yosemite's history--and moved to the San Francisco Bay Area. While in high school in Oakland, in 1956, Pratt scrambled around local cliffs with friends. Then, the next year, he enrolled at UC Berkeley as a physics major.

Trips to the Valley followed. Pratt's study of arcane theories involving motion and gravity suffered, at perhaps a great loss to science, for he showed promise. But he early sensed a trap: excelling at physics might lead to a full-time job, a full-time commitment, and a loss of freedom. Pratt, a cynic at heart, had seen his parents strive for the American dream; he saw their limited success and their nominal happiness--and he began to question concepts of money, children, mortgage payments. He was hardly alone in these sentiments, for the Eisenhower years had lulled so many Americans into complacency and visions of material richness that a backlash was inevitable.

While Pratt awaited an epiphany, he climbed in the Valley. He instantly displayed his talents with a free ascent of Phantom Pinnacle, a strenuous crack climb near the Cathedral Spires. In 1959, at age 21, he did the Arrow Chimney, a Grade V crack climb still avoided by those who value their sanity. By 1960, having quit college forever, he was making first ascents at an astonishing pace (in the Valley he made about 45 in his career!). He capped off 1960 with the second ascent of the Nose, with Royal Robbins, Tom Frost, and Joe Fitschen. Big walls were his game, though he was also one of the first to discover those hidden Yosemite gems, short crack climbs that led nowhere. Two such first ascents will stand forever as Pratt's legacy: the Crack of Doom (1961) and Twilight Zone (1965). The Crack of Doom, a taxing crack climb from start to finish, had a fierce jamcrack at its top, barely protected in those days, and it was the first 5.10 led without foreknowledge in the Valley--and perhaps the country. Twilight Zone was even harder, a horrendous crack now rated 10d. And Pratt led the thing with exceptionally marginal protection. Off-widths, the bane of most climbers even today, were Pratt's specialty, and unfounded rumors grew that he was taken along on big first ascents in case such skills were needed. The truth was far simpler: he was a super all-round climber and a boon companion on a cliff.

Of his big-wall first ascents, three stand out: the Salathé (1961), the NA Wall (1964), and the south face of Watkins (1964). Any climber would be proud to have even one of these! That overused word "awesome" must apply here.

We climbed together many times, in many places. And we climbed as if it were the only thing worth doing. In 1961 we did Devil's Tower seven times in six days, making the second ascents of three routes. Pratt, of course, led the hard cracks. Why not? On Castleton Tower in 1963 he led the first free ascent. Who else? I was barely able to follow his daring leads--and would have committed hara-kiri before trying to lead them.

Pratt's climbing style was not spectacular. He worked upward with caution (the exact opposite of Layton Kor), rarely uttering a word, never once flailing, never once scraping a foot. He claimed to be scared shitless on occasion, but I think he said this only to soothe his mortal followers. I remember once striding confidently up to a crack he had led, sticking my hands into it, lifting a foot--and stalling out. I tried another combination. Faced another direction. "Pratt," I screamed, "you bastard! Which way did you face?" He replied, without guile, that it might not matter, or that he'd forgotten.

Yvon Chouinard was greatly impressed with Pratt's abilities, writing in 1970: "To watch [him] climb a difficult crack is to observe an example of perfect control. When he places a hand or foot, he uses it; there are no trial placements. Each move is deliberate and useful. In the same situation, a less skillful climber will resort to any number of dubious techniques such as: flailing, squirming, panting, groping, and thrutching."

Royal Robbins wrote about another facet of Pratt: "Climbing, for Chuck, is a life-giving elixir, and he has always wanted to keep it as pure as possible, uncorrupted and unalloyed by gain, fame, or ambition, or any sort of debasement. Chuck has kept his integrity."

So ends my profile, yet there is so much more to tell. And, here again, not enough room. It will take a book. In fact, in the past few days, I've had an idea. Pratt's four major articles (and reviews) could form the nucleus of a small book, surrounded by some of his letters (which I have a few--and they are fabulous), plus five or ten or twenty or fifty recollections from various people. This book would have to be privately published, probably. Ideas welcome. I can help. As I imply, my stories about Pratt are old, and I know there are hundreds more new ones, and I'd love to read about all of them. My main non-climbing memories are about his gentle nature (usually), his balance skills (riding backward through Camp 4 on a unicycle while juggling three balls!), his love of Mahler and his early defense of Tchaikovsky, a genius scorned by many at mid-century.

The material above is used by permission from its author, Steve Roper. It may not be reproduced without the written consent of Steve Roper, (c) Copyright.