1. About A Second Remaining El Capitan Fire
2. About 0 Seconds Remaining El Capitan
3. El Capitan Install About A Second Remaining
4. Install El Capitan Stuck About A Second Remaining

If they are found to have become assets to our society, not liabilities, they should be allowed to remain. He was commenting about a series of horrific. Go to the Applications folder. Open the program called “Install OS X El Capitan”. Follow the on-screen instructions. If this program is missing or will not run, then move it to the trash and empty the trash, followed by re-downloading it from the App Store. An alternative approach is to create a dedicated installation drive from the El.

Gonzalo Fernández de Córdoba, 1st Duke of Santángelo (1 September 1453 – 2 December 1515) was a Spanish general and statesman who led successful military campaigns during the Conquest of Granada and the Italian Wars. His military victories and widespread popularity earned him the nickname 'El Gran Capitán' ('The Great Captain'). He also negotiated the final surrender of Granada and later served as Viceroy of Naples. Fernández de Córdoba was a masterful military strategist and tactician. He was the first European to introduce the successful use of firearms on the battlefield and he reorganized his infantry to include pikes and firearms in effective defensive and offensive formations. The changes implemented by Fernández de Córdoba were instrumental in making the Spanish army the dominant force in Europe for more than two hundred years. For his extensive political and military success, he was made Duke of Santángelo (1497), Terranova (1502), Andría, Montalto and Sessa (1507).

Early life[]

Gonzalo Fernández de Córdoba was born on 1 September 1453 at Montilla in the province of Córdoba. He was the younger son of Pedro Fernández de Córdoba, Count of Aguilar (himself the son of Pedro Fernández de Córdoba, 1390–1424 and of Leonor de Arellano)and of Elvira de Herrera (daughter of Pedro Núñez de Herrera y Guzmán, d. 1430, and of Blanca Enríquez de Mendoza). In 1455 when Gonzalo was two years old, his father died. His older brother, Alonso, inherited all of their father's estates, leaving Gonzalo to seek his own fortune. In 1467 Gonzalo was first attached to the household of Alfonso, Prince of Asturias, the half-brother of King Henry IV of Castile. After Alfonso's death in 1468 Gonzalo devoted himself to Alfonso's sister, Isabella of Castile.^[1]

When King Henry IV died in 1474 Isabella proclaimed herself successor queen, disputing the right of Juana la Beltraneja (the king's 13-year-old daughter and her niece) to ascend the throne. During the ensuing civil war between the followers of Isabella and Juana, there was also conflict with Portugal since King Alfonso V of Portugal sided with his niece Juana. Gonzalo fought for Isabella under Alonso de Cárdenas, grand master of the Order of Santiago. In 1479 he fought in the final battle against the Portuguese leading 120 lancers. Cárdenas praised him for his service. When the war ended Isabella and her husband Ferdinand were the rulers of Castile and Aragon.^[1][2]

Conquest of Granada[]

Once the Catholic Monarchs had consolidated their rule, they embarked in 1481 on a ten-year campaign to conquer Granada, the last remaining Muslim stronghold on the Iberian peninsula. Fernández de Córdoba was an active participant in the fighting and distinguished himself as a brave and competent military leader. He gained renown for participation in the sieges of several walled towns including Loja, Tajara, Illora, and Montefrío. At Montefrío he was reported to be the first attacker over the walls. In 1492, Fernández de Córdoba captured the city of Granada, bringing an end to the war. The skills of a military engineer and a guerilla fighter were equally useful. Because of his knowledge of Arabic and his familiarity with Boabdil, Gonzalo was chosen as one of the officers to arrange the surrender.^[1][2][3]

For his service he was rewarded with an Order of Santiago, an encomienda, the manor of Órgiva in Granada as well as silk production rights in the region.^{[citation needed]}

Italian campaigns[]

Gonzalo was an important military commander during the Italian Wars, holding command twice and earning the name 'The Great Captain'.

First Italian War[]

The Italian Wars began in 1494 when Charles VIII of France marched into Italy with 25,000 men to make good his claim to the Kingdom of Naples ruled by Ferdinand II, a cousin to Ferdinand of Aragon. The French easily overwhelmed the Neapolitan defenses and on 12 May 1495 Charles had himself crowned Emperor of Naples. The Catholic Monarchs were anxious to reverse French success in Naples and selected Fernández de Córdoba to lead an expionary force against Charles. Fernández de Córdoba landed in Naples shortly after Charles' coronation with a force of about 5,000 infantry and 600 light cavalry. Fearful of being trapped in Italy, Charles installed Gilbert de Bourbon as Viceroy of Naples and returned to France with about half of the French forces.^[2][4]

Initially, the light infantry and cavalry under Fernández de Córdoba command were no match against the heavily-armed French. A lack of training and poor coordination between Spanish and Italian forces compounded the problem. In their first major engagement on 28 June 1495, Fernández de Córdoba was defeated at the Battle of Seminara against French forces led by Bernard Stewart d'Aubigny.^[5] After the defeat, Fernández de Córdoba withdrew to implement a rigorous training program and reorganize his army. The Spanish employed effective guerrilla tactics, striking quickly to disrupt French supply lines and avoiding large-scale battles. Gradually Fernández de Córdoba regained a foothold in the country and then assaulted the French-occupied Italian cities. Within a year, Fernández de Córdoba achieved a decisive victory at Atella, capturing the French viceroy and expelling the remaining French forces from Naples. He also recovered the Roman port of Ostia and returned the captured territories to the Italians by 1498.^[3]

Military restructuring[]

When Fernández de Córdoba returned to Spain he drew on the lessons from the Italian campaign to restructure the Spanish forces and military strategy. In the open field, the loose formation and short swords of the Spanish infantry were unable to withstand a charge of heavy cavalry and infantry armed with pikes. To overcome this weakness, Fernández de Córdoba introduced a new infantry formation armed with pikes and a heavy, shoulder-fired gun called an arquebus. To increase tactical flexibility he assigned different sections of his forces to specific roles, rather than using them as one general force. These new sections could maneuver more independently and act with greater flexibility.^[3]

Second Italian War[]

After Louis XII succeeded Charles as king of France in 1498, he quickly declared his intention to re-invade Italy and once again seize Naples. To buy time, Spain negotiated the Treaty of Granada with France in 1500, agreeing to partition Naples between the two countries. Fernández de Córdoba returned to Italy leading a large force on the pretext of joining with France and Venice to attack the Ottomans in the Ionian Sea. For a time Fernández de Córdoba did fight the Turks, seizing the strongly held island of Cephalonia in December 1500 after a two-month siege.

Fernández de Córdoba returned to Naples and after Frederick IV abdicated, the French and Spanish fought a guerilla war while negotiating the partition of the kingdom. Spain was outnumbered and besieged in Barletta by the French. Gonzalo refused to be drawn into a full-scale battle until he received sufficient reinforcements.

When his army was adequately reinforced, Fernández de Córdoba engaged the French on 28 April 1503 at the Battle of Cerignola where 6,000 Spanish troops faced a French army of 10,000. Gonzalo formed his infantry into units called coronelías with pikemen tightly packed in the center and arquebusiers and swordsmen on the flanks. The French unsuccessfully attacked the front and were assailed by gunfire coming from the flanks. The French commander, the Louis d'Armagnac, Duke of Nemours, was killed early in the battle. After withstanding two French charges, Fernández de Córdoba, El Gran Capitán, went on the offensive and drove the French off the field. This was the first time in history that a battle had been won largely through the strength of firearms.

Fernández de Córdoba occupied the city of Naples and pushed the French forces back across the Garigliano River. Separated by the river, a stalemate ensued with neither side able to make progress. But Fernández de Córdoba strung together a pontoon bridge and stole across the river on the night of December 29, 1503. The French, commanded by Ludovico II of Saluzzo, had assumed the rain-swollen river was impassable and were taken by complete surprise. Fernández de Córdoba and his army decisively defeated the French with their formations of pikes and arquebuses. Fernández de Córdoba continued to pursue the French and captured the Italian city of Gaeta in January 1504. Unable to mount a defense after these losses, the French were allowed to evacuate Italy by sea and forced to sign the Treaty of Blois in 1505, relinquishing their hold on Naples.^[3]

Viceroy of Naples[]

When the French were driven out of Naples, Fernández de Córdoba was made Duke of Terranova and appointed Viceroy of Naples in 1504. Later that same year Queen Isabel I of Castile died, depriving him of his most ardent supporter. Isabel's death also effectively pushed her husband, Ferdinand II of Aragon, out of power temporarily in Castile and forced him to defend his interests in Aragon. Naples was an Aragonese kingdom but Gonzalo was a Castilian and widely popular. As a result, Ferdinand suspected his loyalty and also felt that Gonzalo spent too freely from the treasury. In 1507 Ferdinand traveled to Naples, removed him from office and ordered him to return to Spain with a promise that he would be installed as master of the Order of Santiago, a powerful and prestigious position.^[1][6]

Although Fernández de Córdoba was awarded the additional title, Duke of Sessa, he never received the promised appointment to lead the Santiago military order. Ferdinand continued to praise him but gave him nothing else to do; he eventually retired to one of his country estates. Fernández de Córdoba died of malaria on 2 December 1515 at his villa near Granada at age 62.^[1]

Marriage and family[]

About A Second Remaining El Capitan Fire

Fernández de Córdoba first married in 1474 to his cousin María de Sotomayor; about a year later she died giving birth to a stillborn son. On 14 February 1489 he married María Manrique de Lara y Figueroa (also known as María Manrique de Lara y Espinosa, d. 1527) from a powerful and wealthy noble family. His only surviving daughter, Elvira Fernández de Córdoba y Manrique, would inherit all his titles upon his death in 1515.^[1]

Legacy[]

The 'Gran Capitán' was a pioneer of modern warfare. He revolutionized 16th-century military strategy by integrating firearms into the Spanish infantry and directed the first battle in history won by gunpowdersmall arms (in this case, arquebuses), the Battle of Cerignola of 1503. He helped found the first modern standing army (the nearly invincible Spanish infantry which dominated European battlefields for most of the 16th and 17th centuries), and he pioneered combined arms warfare by combining the use of infantry, cavalry and artillery with naval support.

He left no sons, and was succeeded in his dukedoms by daughter Elvira Fernández de Córdoba y Manrique. His burial place in the Monastery of San Jerónimo in Granada, was built in Renaissance style. His remains were transferred there in 1552, together with some 700 war trophies (captured banners). His wife and daughter (died in 1527 and 1524, respectively) were also buried there, as were a number of other family members.

The tomb was desecrated by Napoleonic troops under the command of the Corsican General Sebastiani during the Peninsular War, in 1810/11. The remains of Fernández de Córdoba were illegally exhumed and mutilated, and the 700 banners were burned. Stone from the tower was used to build the Puente Verde bridge over the Genil. The monastery was fully restored at the end of the 19th century.

See also[]

Notes[]

1. ^ ^abcdefPurcell 1962
2. ^ ^abcTucker 2015
3. ^ ^abcdEncyclopedia of World Biography 2000
4. ^Rubin 1991
5. ^Mallett & Shaw 2012, p. 32.
6. ^Lynch 1981

References[]

• Downey, Kirstin (2014). Isabella : the warrior queen. New York: Nan A. Talese/Doubleday. ISBN9780385534116.
• Gerli, E. Michael (2003). 'Fernández de Córdoba, Gonzalo'. Medieval Iberia: An Encyclopedia. Routledge.
• Lynch, John (1981). Spain Under the Hapsburgs, Volume One (2nd ed.). New York University Press.
• Mallett, Michael; Shaw, Christine (2012). The Italian Wars, 1494-1559. Pearson Education Limited.
• Purcell, Mary (1962). The Great Captain: Gonzalo Fernández de Córdoba. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday.
• Rubin, Nancy (1991). Isabella of Castile: The First Renaissance Queen. St. Martin's Press.
• Tucker, Spencer C. (2015). 'Córdoba, Gonzalo Fernández, Conde de (1453-1515)'. 500 Great Military Leaders. 1. ABC-CLIO. pp. 170–172.
• 'Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordoba'. Encyclopedia of World Biography. GALE. 2000.
• Prescott, William, and Albert D. McJoynt. The Art of War in Spain. London: Greenhill Books, 1995.

Spanish

• Rafael Arce Jiménez y Lourdes Belmonte Sánchez: El Gran Capitán: repertorio bibliográfico, Biblioteca Manuel Ruiz Luque, 2000, ISBN84-89619-45-X
• José Enrique Ruiz-Domènec: El Gran Capitán. Retrato de una época, 2002, ISBN84-8307-460-5
• Duro, Cesáreo Fernández. Armada Española, desde la unión de los reinos de Castilla y Aragón. Madrid: Museo Naval, 1972
• Martín Gómez, Antonio L. El Gran Capitán: Las Campañas del Duque de Terranova y Santángelo. Madrid, Spain: Almena, 2000.
• Ruiz Domènec, José Enrique. El Gran Capitán, Retrato de una época. Madrid, Spain: Ediciones Peninsula, 2002.

Alone on the John Muir Wall, El Capitan

Alone on the John Muir Wall, El Capitan

Royal S. Robbins

I knew that I had done the right thing when I learned that Jim McCarthy had soloed High Exposure. McCarthy, of course, is the rock of the East Coast. He’s an ace climber, lawyer, and karate expert. He doesn’t have to climb solo.

But what is this solo nonsense, anyway? Oh, just solo nonsense. Just another way to prove something. A sort of spiritual onanism. The thing about a solo climb is that it is all yours. You are not forced to share it. It’s naked. Raw. The fullest expression of the climbing egoist. It is also a way of exploring oneself. A solo climb is like a big mirror. One is looking at oneself all the way up. If it is a way of showing off, of proving something, it is also a test, a way of finding out what one is made of. Or is it? I really don’t know. I don’t know why I solo. But I sense it has much to do with the ego, and with proving something. Proving something to myself, mainly, I think. But who knows?

Maybe climbing El Capitan solo is using it as an exercise bar. But will the spirit be stronger afterwards? How does one tell? If one faces life better. Do I? I don’t know; I can not remember exactly how it was before. I think I am just as afraid of as many things as I used to be. Only I am a little less afraid of El Capitan.

There are no reasonable reasons why one solos. At least not why I do. I have done solo climbs because I had to do them. I was driven by an unrelenting demon inside, and that demon is difficult to assuage. He always asks for more, more, more. He never gets enough. He is insatiable, gluttonous, ever lusting for more of the peculiar meat upon which he feeds. The Leaning Tower was not enough. Soloing Sentinel was not enough. Edith Cavell was not enough. Perhaps now, after El Capitan, he is satisfied. I hope so.

Writing about this climb is not easy. It is agonizingly personal. It is well to record that I started climbing solo at the age of 16. I used to hitch-hike into the San Gabriel Mountains of southern California, scramble down a remote canyon, and pass the day clinging to a 600-foot cliff of poor rock. Good training if one survives. I was lucky. I have long dreamed of emulating Bonatti’s fantastic solo of the southwest pillar of the Dru. I did not succeed, of course, but that was one of the great examples that spurred me on.

El Capitan had not been soloed. I had not climbed the John Muir Route. It was the obvious choice. And this would be the second ascent, which would give me something to gloat over, if I were inclined to gloat, which I am, secretly. The story of the epic first ascent by TM Herbert and Yvon Chouinard has been well told in the A.A.J., 1966. But Chouinard’s enthralling account was a bit sparse in details, and I was to regret this in the days ahead.

May is a good month to sell paint in the Central Valley. That being my trade, I was forced to start in April, a bit too early for my taste. April showers, you know. And worse: Liz walked to the base with me. It was a bitter, evil day, with a bitter, evil wind whipping down over the north rim and tearing at the trees and buffeting the rock. And windy thoughts were tearing at my mind too. Chances were that I would be safe enough, but something could happen. I said earlier that I had to do it. I lied. I had a choice. And that choice was made in complete freedom on a windy April morning, at the base of El Capitan. I chose to go up because I told myself I had to do it. The interesting thing is that the contrary decision, the choice to remain on the ground, not to bother, would probably have more favorably affected my character, and almost certainly have a more profound and far-reaching effect upon my life, than soloing the Big Daddy. Or would it?

Belaying myself with Jümar handles, I started up, using pitons for aid, climbing free when I could. From the top of each pitch, I rappelled back down to the start, unhooked the hauling bag and let it out on the rappel line, and Jümared up the fixed climbing rope, removing the pins as I went. After hauling the bag, I was ready to repeat the whole process. By nightfall I was hammocked only 300 feet above the ground. Hmmm … it would take me ten days at this rate. Well, I was prepared for eight fat, or ten spare ones.

Liz departed to take my place selling latex or oleosinous coatings in Modesto. My friend Chuck Pratt, while taking a dim view of this sort of stunt, would nevertheless call her each night to appraise her of how the battle was going.

That nasty wind had at least presaged good weather. The second morning dawned fine, as did the rest. That day I traversed several hundred feet to the left. There is no rappelling sideways, so I had to climb each pitch three times. It would be good to reach the more straightforward upper section of the wall.

I broke my piton hammer. Only one left. If I broke or lost that one, I would need to be rescued. Dismal thought. If I broke it, well, OK. But losing it would have made me look so foolish I would be a long time recovering. I tied an extra cord to the remaining hammer.

On the third day I reached Heart Ledge, a spacious terrace which the Salathé Route now shares with the Muir. There was a trickle of water, too feeble to collect. I was able to sip it, along with a few wigglies, and so save my precious water supply.

When dawn came, I climbed a 150-foot pitch to Mammoth Terraces, also a familiar landmark on the Salathé. Then up into new territory. I was maintaining my initial average of 300 feet a day, and beginning to feel it. Such a pace would have driven some climbers into a frenzy. Me, it merely irritated. I’m heavy on patience. Some erstwhile friends have described me as “plodding.” Fair enough, but soloing the Muir doesn’t require mercurial qualities. It takes technical skill and a turn of mind which can steadfastly accommodate the tedious. The second ascent of the John Muir Route was certainly an exercise in tedium. That was its primary characteristic: a certain mechanical methodicalness composed of hundreds of similar movements and actions: piton after piton, rappelling after each pitch, removing the hardware, hauling the gear, untangling the ropes, preparing the next pitch, and then the whole rigmarole all over again; and all the time the constant awareness of every danger that might threaten me: the swami belt knot, had it loosened? were the slings on the Jümars abrading? were the ropes securely anchored? would the rope run freely? was the complex carabiner brake for the rappel properly arranged? These questions and many more tormented me with their continual demand for attention. I had to give each a fair hearing. And under this burden of minutiae, I moved inexorably, but without esprit, toward the summit.

Eventually I began to crack. The tedium and the loneliness. The loneliness and the tedium. I had started to talk aloud to myself on the second or third day. It is hard to recall how much of my monologue was really audible. It does not seem to matter much when no one is around to overhear. But I do know that on the seventh day the decibels grew. I ran into an unspeakable 200-foot crack 1½-inches-wide all the way. I had only two pitons that size. The memories of Chouinard and Herbert had somehow not retained whatever impressions were made by this fissure. I will never forget it. I climbed up, using the tips of larger pitons and smaller ones doubled. It was extremely disagreeable, for I was forced to descend repeatedly to remove the lower pins for use above. The artificial chockstones I took were useless here, as the crack refused to bottleneck. And the rock was fresh and crumbly. I couldn’t tell how good the pins were. I wished I were elsewhere, such as on a friendly free climb with a

light-hearted companion. I loudly cursed the recalcitrant rock, and the amnesia of my friends, but there was nothing to do except to fit and hammer. Going down was worse than up. Courage comes more easily when it is a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. Resigned as a man who must have a tooth pulled, I plodded upward, fighting for inches.

On the eighth day I reached a single crack which split the final summit dihedral. I was getting close. But Chouinard had said there was hard nailing up there, A4, he thought. I was to find it harder, but at first the crack was good. I climbed 100 feet and then came down to bivouac on a ledge.

The ninth day started easily, but I was suspicious. I knew there was a meany there, waiting for me. It was lonely in that great open-book. The architecture of the rock was starkly simple: great sweeping planes of granite extended hundreds of feet to either side, magnificently unflawed except for the single thin crack dividing them. This crack ended in a bulging overhang 100 feet above me. The nailing got worse as the crack changed slowly to a shallow indentation. I wondered how my friends had felt up there, so close to success. They had started in enervating heat, and after becoming desiccated by the sun, they became super-hydrated by several days of rain. They arrived at the final dihedral fatigued, hungry, apprehensive. This was no fun-in-the-sun rock climb. They had only a few bolts left. What must they have thought when the crack became shallower and shallower? These chaps never place a bolt unless convinced they need one. But here the ethical stance was reinforced by necessity. They simply could not afford to place bolts where even terrible pitons would do. So they had pushed the limits. It was too hard for me. After an hour of fussing, and a four-foot fall onto a rurp, I gave up and placed a detested Rawl Drive.

I passed the night in a hammock beneath the overhang and reached the top about two o’clock the next day, the tenth. Liz and some friends were there to greet me. The traditional champagne was produced. It went quickly to my mouth and even faster to my head. Good drink, champagne. After ten days of tedious, trying solitude, it was really good to see Liz. It was good to see friends. It was good to have friends. I was immensely pleased. I felt like a prizefighter who has just won a big match. Bathed in the aura of my success, I cared not a whit, for the moment, for anything I wasn’t.

Summary of Statistics.

About 0 Seconds Remaining El Capitan

Area: Yosemite Valley, California.

El Capitan Install About A Second Remaining

Ascent: The second ascent and first solo of the John Muir Wall of El Capitan, April, 1968 (Royal Robbins).

Install El Capitan Stuck About A Second Remaining