No man ever knew more of the High Sierra terrain than Norman Clyde. David R. Brower
Not since the time of John Muir had anyone established such a kinship with the Sierra Nevada.
Los Angeles Times
Wherever men gather around blazing campfires on cold nights in the high country and talk of the history of mountaineering, there are certain names that inevitably come into the conversation. . . among Americans, John Muir, Clarence King and Norman Clyde.
San Francisco Chronicle
Close Ups of the High Sierra is a collection of stories as told by one of California's great mountaineers, Norman Clyde. His rate of first ascents far surpassed those of John Muir, Clarence King and William Brewer, combined. Often called upon to find downed planes and lost climbers, he did so with a tremendous rate of success.
For more than half a century many of the new stories in this volume have been filed away in the forgotten solitude and darkness of library collections. Clyde's mountain photographs of his famed Sierra Club High Trips attended by such notable Sierrans as Ansel Adams, Cedric Wright, Francis Farquhar, Glen Dawson, and Jules Eichorn remind us of the Golden Age of High Sierra climbing and days long past.
A long time ago, in an abandoned ranch house without electricity or plumbing, a man sat at a kitchen table illuminated by the soft flickering light of a kerosene lamp. Driven to the Sierra by his intense love of them, and by a personal tragedy in his past, he hoped to make a few dollars by selling the stories he would write about his climbing trips. With the passage of time, his tales of adventure would preserve an era of western mountaineering history, as told by CaliforniaÕs greatest mountaineer.
ÒClose Ups of the High SierraÓ is a journey to the exquisite and remote backcountry of the Sierra Nevada in California, as told by that great mountaineer, Norman Clyde, who was credited with making more first ascents in the Sierra Nevada than Clarence King, John Muir, and William Brewer, combined. In the book Sierra Nevada, Weldon Heald said of Clyde, Ò(he) has probably made more mountain ascents than any other man who ever lived, not excluding Swiss guides. Certainly, he has no rival in the Sierra.Ó Yet in life, Clyde was not a member of any mountaineering aristocracy Ñ his name appeared on no letterheads, nor did he found any great environmental movement or organization.
With a degree in Classic Literature, an old army hat, and great physical endurance, Clyde became a living legend. He drove nails into the soles of his boots for traction, so slick rock, ice and other obstacles could not keep him from reaching the summits of the mountains he wanted to climb. On cold Sierra mornings, he would recite HomerÕs ÒIlliadÓ and ÒOdysseyÓ in Greek, while cooking breakfast for climbing partners at the campfire. He was one of a dying breed, a Òvanishing Victorian,Ó which was evident in his writing style. One climbing partner remembered him as a proud and sensitive man, who was unable to grasp modern thinking. . .
. . . After losing his last job as a high school principal, Clyde moved into a broken-down ranch house on Baker Creek. It had been abandoned when the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power bought the property for its aqueduct to carry water from the Owens Valley to Los Angeles. It was known that Clyde lived in the house, but he was left alone, without plumbing or electricity to enjoy the visiting field mice, and the kitchen, its rotten wood floor turned to sod. From its window, beyond the tall pines to the stark Sierra crest, his inspiration was the view of Peak 13,920Õ+, which would one day bear his name. . .
Wynne Benti, Publisher (Read more in Close Ups of the High Sierra)
