The Stonemasters? Tobin Sorenson? Rick Accomazzo Tells their Stories Better than Anyone

I remember my early twenties well. It was the late 1980s, I was living in Los Angeles, I was working in the film industry, and I was trying to climb as hard as I could.

Every week I'd be mixing it up with film stars my daughters have never heard of (Mickey Rooney, Cheryl Ladd, Steve Bauer, Craig T. Nelson, Wayne Rogers, and a hundred others).

That was fun, but my head was always up in the San Jacinto Mountains, churning over scary Tahquitz and Suicide routes which were often the creation, dominion, and demise of the Stonemasters—one of the most important cliques in American climbing, which, by the way, wasn't a clique.

Tahquitz and Suicide were the obsession in the summers.

In the winters we'd be at Joshua Tree, chasing 5.9s and .10s around like fiends, trying the odd 5.11 and generally failing or getting too scared when we ran it out. John Bachar often held court around the campfire, his black Toyota 4Runner's trunk filled with "seconds" of Boreal Aces (shoes), which none of us could afford.

I remember filming one night for a movie called Angel Town (don't watch it unless you need a big fat headache). I was up in a cherry picker with a 5- or 10-k light, aiming it at people and wondering if I could fry eggs on it. The first assistant called "that's a wrap" and I rappelled out of the picker, down to the pavement, and jumped in a waiting station wagon. We headed straight to Joshua Tree. The movie crew later told me that was cool.

Maybe, but anything's cooler than working in the movie industry. Flippin' Weirdo Central.

In the spring of 1990, I decided to take a crack at a legendary route, Valhalla, a 5.11 at Suicide—a Stonemasters entry route.

Steve Porcella, my climbing partner and mentor (and a truly brilliant climber), offered encouraging words. I took a deep breath and as fluidly as I could, slid up the first pitch. That went well, so I led the second. I think Steve led the third. I don't remember. I felt heady with glory. Revelation, redemption, release, rejuvenation, relief. All the R words flooded my brain.

Except repeat.

I had touched the Stonemasters, I thought.

But, no I hadn't. While I thought my first California 5.11 onsight was decent, it was barely a scratch on the surface of who and what the Stonemasters were, and in some cases still are.

Now, Rick Accomazzo, one of the core Stonemasters (these days a lawyer), has written a book describing his life with the Stonemasters and the life of Tobin Sorenson—a name we all knew in the late 1980s and early '90s though we didn't know why.

First, the Stonemasters: I always had an inkling that this group was sorta made up or maybe took a bit of liberty with glorifying their activities—a kind of marketing ploy for John Long's writings.

No way no how.

When you read Accomazzo's Tobin, The Stonemasters, and Me: 1970–1980 , you will get a full understanding of why the Southern California climbing areas of Tahquitz and Suicide are jointly one of the most important in American climbing history. Every significant American climber of the 1930s and '40s were there. Glen Dawson (a Los Angeles bookseller), Bob Brinton, and others.

In 1950s and '60s a new generation came through Idyllwild, including Mark Powell, Chuck Wilts, John Mendenhall, Royal Robbins, Don Wilson, Yvon Chouinard, Dave Rearick, and many others.

Tahquitz and Suicide are where the Yosemite decimal system for grading climbs evolved. You know—5.5, 5.6 ... 5.12, 5.13, and so on....

After some pioneering ascents, starting in the early 1970s, the Stonemasters came into being. Their modus operandi was to free every route they could via the best style they could muster, and names like Accomazzo, Long, Graham, Sorenson, Muir, Harrison, Waugh, Shockley, Gingery, Evans, Lechlinski, Yablonski, Powell, Hensel, and others began to pepper write-ups in magazines and guidebooks.

These "Southern California" climbers (Yosemite was often divided into Southern and Northern California climbers) later absorbed some legendary Yosemite climbers like Jim Bridwell.

Tobin Sorenson was a different egg.

Religiously anchored to religion (yep), he swore off drugs and alcohol (he thought beer "tasted like piss") and climbed in the name of the Lord. In the early 1970s, he blitzed through these legendary Southern California areas, then Yosemite, setting a high bar with nearly every climb. Then he got into alpinism.

I think Accomazzo, reflecting, sums it up best with this paragraph:

"In the span of one year, starting in August 1977, after a long layoff, he climbed the hardest Alpine walls in Europe, putting up four new routes (including two on the fabled great north faces), the first alpine-style ascent of the Eiger Direct, and the third winter solo of the Matterhorn north face. Then he had climbed the hardest Yosemite routes in near-perfect style at a time when Yosemite Valley contained the most difficult rock climbs in the world. Finally, in the same year, he had dipped his toe into high-altitude climbing and succeeded in a bold, on-sight free solo ascent of 20,981-foot Huandoy Norte. In the next two years he bounced from daunting first winter ascents in Canada, to first ascents on sunny Australian cliffs that surpassed the existing grades, to impressive technical alpine first ascents in New Zealand."

Accomazzo, who was one of Sorenon's best friends, tells the story of "the best climber in the world" with remarkable clarity and honesty. And in remarkable detail. While Accomazzo clearly knew Sorenson really well, he dug the whole story, everything, out of the mists, for which we can only thank him.

And no joke, Sorenson was the best climber in the world. Read Accomazzo to see why.

Moreover, Accomazzo's filled in some important blanks in Southern California and Yosemite climbing history, especially the incredible rise of the Stonemasters—whose lightning bolt symbol, borrowed from surfing, is still scratched on the Midnight Lightning boulder problem in Yosemite every summer.

What an excellent and interesting book. A million miles more interesting than actors and Hollywood.

Two thumbs up.

Accomazzo has restored my faith in American climbing literature.

Tobin, the Stonemasters, and Me 1970–1980: Remembering Tobin Sorenson, the Best Climber in the World will be available this August. Published by Stonemaster Books, it is 375 pages, with dozens of color and black and white photos, and costs $46.00. The book can be pre-ordered at the website, Stonemasterbooks.com .