John Bachar was more than just a climbing partner; he was like a brother to me. We were part of a close-knit family, bound by our shared passion for climbing and a fundamental philosophy about life. We pushed the boundaries of free climbing, always striving to achieve the most with the least reliance on gear. John, in particular, was a perfectionist, and climbing was his path to mastery. For him, free soloing was the ultimate expression of climbing, the closest one could get to pure perfection on the rock.
Our group, who later became known as the “Stone Masters,” affectionately nicknamed John the “punk monk.” He lived a solitary life in his red Volkswagen van in Joshua Tree, dedicating himself entirely to climbing. This nickname captured not only his ascetic lifestyle but also his rebellious attitude towards mainstream society. On rest days, John would immerse himself in learning the saxophone, spending countless hours practicing alone. We were his chosen family, joining him every weekend and holiday we could. John was the first person I knew who decided to live as a full-time climber, even before the concept of a “professional climber” truly existed. It was astonishing how he managed to make a living through occasional television commercials and appearances on shows like “That’s Incredible,” “Ripley’s Believe it or Not,” and “Survival of the Fittest.” I also had the chance to be on these shows, but I never imagined that climbing could be a full-time career. Instead, I used my earnings to fund my Biology degree, always trying to climb whenever possible.
While I was navigating college life as a “starving student” across California, Las Vegas, and finally New Paltz, New York, John continued to elevate the standards of free climbing. In 1981, he and Mike Lechlinski were invited to a prestigious “international climbing meet” in the Frankenjura region of Germany. A standout ascent from that trip was John’s groundbreaking first free ascent of “Chasin the Trane,” a route named after one of his jazz idols. John’s performance showcased not only his incredible fluidity and control on the rock but also his unwavering commitment to pure free climbing style. He famously refused to hang dog and on-sighted nearly every route with breathtaking grace. It was poignant that John’s father arranged for a saxophonist to play “Amazing Grace” at his memorial, a fitting tribute to John’s own grace on the rock. John’s impressive display significantly impacted climbers from across Europe and is considered a pivotal moment in the global advancement of free climbing standards.
Patrick Edlinger, on his initial visit to America, was captivated by John Bachar and Ron Kauk practicing on the iconic Midnight Lightning boulder problem in Camp 4. Upon returning to France, Patrick adopted a “California-style” training regime. Inspired by what he observed at the Camp 4 rescue site, he incorporated jogging, built a “Bachar ladder,” and set up a slackline in his yard. In his influential documentary, “Opera Vertical,” Patrick mirrored the Californian climbing lifestyle, sporting tiny running shorts like Bachar, a red bandana like Kauk, and showcasing scenes of running, slacklining, and barefoot free soloing on a reputed 5.11 route in the Verdon Gorge. This film reached a massive audience on French prime-time television, making Patrick Edlinger a household name in France.
Perhaps the route that best embodied John Bachar’s dedication to style and boldness was the Bachar-Yerian route. Years after John’s first ascent, I found myself “sandbagged” into repeating it, leading the notoriously scary pitches protected by only a handful of bolts. Wearing a helmet offered a small measure of comfort as I ventured far above the last bolt, lost in a maze of rock knobs with no further protection in sight. Climbing this route provided me with a profound appreciation for John’s visionary route-finding and the immense effort required to hand-drill each bolt while hanging precariously from skyhooks.
Over the years, our paths crossed repeatedly, from our early climbing days in California to various climbing destinations in the US and Europe, and at numerous Outdoor Retailer trade shows. I witnessed John’s personal evolution on many levels, including his mastery of the saxophone. I had the pleasure of hearing him play in a jazz quartet at the Zephyr club in Salt Lake City during a trade show. It was then that I truly recognized his exceptional skill as a saxophonist, a talent further highlighted by his saxophone contribution in Kris “Odub” Hampton’s tribute song.
However, the most transformative influence in John’s life was the birth of his son, Tyrus. It was heartwarming to witness John’s tender side and the deep love he had for his son. Their relationship transcended father and son; they were true companions in life.
Now, with his passing, a significant void remains, prompting myself and countless others to reflect on the impact of his life. The solace we find in our grief is the enduring inspiration he provided as a climber and the cherished memories of the John I knew beyond the public persona – a vulnerable and loving friend.
On my way to John’s memorial service, I called my friend Mari Gingery. As the phone rang, she and a group of friends had just declared they needed a “ringer” to complete the last unclimbed boulder problem at the “Bachar Boulders.” Serendipitously, I was just ten miles away and arrived with minutes to spare before sunset.
Mari immediately led me to “JB’s Seam,” where our friends were gathered. With no time for a warm-up, I put on my shoes and gave it a try. My fingers burned from the rough texture of the rock and the shock to my caffeine-laden system. After the pain subsided, I tried again, reaching just below the crux moves. A fall from this point, even with strong spotters like John Sherman below, was undesirable. On my second attempt, I still felt underprepared for the high foot placement required in the precarious layback position. But I noticed a small nubbin to the right, a potential foothold for a one-two step maneuver to bring my foot up. As the last light faded, I gave it one final try. At the crucial moment, doubt flickered, but then I imagined John’s voice urging, “Come on – go for it.” I stretched my foot far right to the nubbin, allowing me to bring my foot into position, grasp the key pocket, and reach the top. It was an incredibly meaningful moment, joining my friends in celebrating John’s life, his inspiration, and his lasting impact on generations of climbers.
Below is a link to a song by Kris “Odub” Hampton (odubmusic.com) and Misty Murphy, featuring John Bachar on the saxophone.
Odub- Who He Is
