Along with the rest of the world, I watched two rock climbers complete an amazing "free" ascent of the massive, 900-meter vertical granite cliff known as El Capitan in Yosemite National Park, California, last week. I had more interest than most because I was intimately familiar with the territory. At age 21, in the spring of 1976, I climbed El Capitan by another route, called The Nose, just a few meters to the left of the Dawn Wall.

As I contemplated the news, I began to see a social and political meaning in the climb, beyond its circus "wow" factor. Really.

Back in my intrepid youth in the late 1960s, ascents of "big walls" in Yosemite, though not rare, were still the domain of the few. El Capitan was first climbed in 1958 in a 47-day siege. The equipment of the day was primitive. Nylon rope technology was just emerging. Lug-soled boots were the norm, unlike the sticky-smooth rubber of today's high-end climbing shoes, which are more like ballet slippers. Everybody carried 10 to 15 kilograms of steel pitons and hammers up the walls.