Climbing the North Arete of Matterhorn Peak, California

The view - an unimpeded panorama of jagged grey rock spires, erupting out of the smooth, snow-covered glacier, and scratching at the unbelievably blue sky - was spectacular from my vantage point on the flank of Matterhorn Peak. After building the belay station, I'd marveled at the vista. Now, having been anchored to the shady, windblown ledge for almost an hour, I felt my mood swinging from euphoria towards depression. I scanned the rock for escape routes.

Up to this point, the trip had been great. A few days prior, an old kayaking buddy, Steve Giddings, had called to ask if I'd be interested in the North Arete of Matterhorn Peak. He'd be climbing with Liz Keate, and I could swap leads with Lynne Siodmak, whom I'd climbed and kayaked with before.

After overcoming some misgivings - it was early April, and my winter mountaineering experience was limited to non-technical climbs - I talked myself into going. Rated 5.6, the route looked classic, and regardless how the climbing went we'd have a nice ski tour in a beautiful part of the Sierra Nevada.

After various e-mails and phone calls, we met in the San Fernando Valley, piled into Lynne's van, and headed off into the evening traffic. We drove until midnight, camping in a pine grove outside of Lee Vining. A late morning start, leisurely pancake breakfast, and the usual sorting and divying of racks and community gear saw us finally heading up the Horse Creek trail a little before noon.

Hiking, then moderate skinning led us to a small tarn at about 10,000 feet, with plenty of daylight left to admire the view of Matterhorn Peak.

An hour of shoveling and we'd created an Alpine Skills International-approved snow fort; a large pit, wide enough for all four of us, capped with a Megamid, and ringed with a sturdy wall of snow blocks. As the sun set the wind picked, up but we cooked dinner in complete comfort.

4 AM came all too soon, and we quickly boiled water for coffee and oatmeal. We stepped outside to a sky ablaze with stars. Jupiter was brilliant, perched above the Sawtooth Range. After some fumbling with our crampons, we crunched our way up the glacier, our route clearly illuminated by starlight. The stars faded as we ascended. Sunlight painted the peaks orange and crept down the east flank of Matterhorn Peak as we finished the approach.

Finding the start of the climb was challenging. We were looking for fourth class terrain, and found a couple possibilities. Steve headed up an apparently easy ramp, but soon encountered difficulties.

Lynne and I tried a different line, but quickly decided it was much harder than 4th class.

Just about then, Liz took a rolling, penduluming fall following Steve's lead. As she lowered down to exchange her telemark boots for climbing shoes, Lynne and I decided to climb an easier route further up the couloir. This line jogged briefly to the left, then paralleled Steve and Liz's route before joining it above the troublesome section. Lynne flew up it, barely pausing to place gear.

Burdened by our heavy pack, I climbed more slowly. We never decided why the pack was so damn heavy, but ice axes, crampons, water bottles and lunches certainly didn't help. We later agreed that it was a toss up over whether leading, or following with the massive pack, was more intimidating.

I got the second lead, almost a full rope length of fourth class rock. We were in the sun now and enjoying the climbing. This put us on a huge ledge on the prow of the arete. The views just kept getting better. We could see all the way down to Bridgeport, some fourteen miles away.

Lynne traded her boots for rock shoes and raced up the third pitch, a steep dihedral, followed by a strenuous move onto a small ledge. She made it look so easy I was tempted to keep my warm boots on, but I compromised by wearing my liner socks, and putting my gators over my rock shoes. Ridiculous-looking, but effective; my feet stayed warm all day. Two pairs of boots made the pack even heavier, and after muscling my way up to the belay station I was panting. Better start concentrating on that footwork...

The next pitch was short, a step down to a hand traverse, followed by a stroll across a wildly-exposed ledge. Freed from the pack, I found it enjoyable. This put us well onto the northwest face of the peak, into deep shade. We'd been out of the wind all morning, but now it started to pick up. While we waited for Steve and Liz to finish the next pitch, we put on our shells, ate and drank. The pack got lighter!

Steve was offroute. He'd been lured by an ancient pin into a nasty 5.8 offwidth. Poor Liz then had to follow, lugging their big pack. As Lynne and I waited we saw we were not much higher than the start of the Double Dihedral route. We had a long way to go.

Lynne was finally able to start climbing, and in a brilliant lead, she managed to avoid the offwidth and find the "true path". This involved some careful routefinding, though, so by the time she called "Off Belay", I was shaking with cold and fighting off thoughts of bailing.

Finally, finally, I was able to start climbing again. Cold and stiff, burdened with that awful pack, I headed up. The pitch started with a disconcerting move that required straddling a small arete. A great place to think about rope stretch. This soon led to a fine hand crack. Hey, climbing isn't so bad after all! Looking down between my legs I saw hundreds of feet of sheer rock face dropping to the snowfields below. Excellent exposure - this is actually fun! Leading through Lynne's belay station took me over the arete, and into the warm sun. A steep but easy climb up a small arete let me bypass a chockstone-blocked chimney, and got me up to a perfect, sunlit belay ledge. My love of climbing was fully restored.

Steve was just above me, setting off on the crux pitch. He'd chosen to tackle the dihedral, rated at 5.6. (The arete to the left is easier but is unprotected). Steve was having to clean snow out of all the jams, and was back in the cold shade. Under these conditions the climbing was much harder! As I belayed Lynne up to the ledge, I watched the warm patch of sunlight travel eastward, pause briefly on the edge of the ledge, then twinkle out. Back in the shade again.

Steve finally finished the pitch, and somehow Liz followed, pack and all. Lynne set off next, clipping a fixed stopper, then feeding gear to the crack. Soon she reached the spot that had given Steve trouble, and stalled out. After some fiddling, she asked Steve to drop her a toprope. Now it was my turn to see what had been causing everyone such trouble.

The start of the dihedral was easy. However, despite Steve's efforts, the cracks were still stuffed with cold powder. Ten feet up and I'd lost the feeling in my left hand. A little higher, my toes were all numb. The arete to the left was obviously far easier, but I still had to clean Lynne's highest piece. A few more numbed, marginal moves got me to the gear, a questionable cam set between a few ice-rimed cobbles. No wonder Lynne hadn't wanted to trust it! Fingers and toes now fully unfeeling, I'd had enough of the crack - I still don't see how Steve managed to lead it, or how Liz followed with her big pack. A short tension traverse had me onto the arete, which offered big footholds and exquisite exposure. The remainder of the pitch was pure joy.

Climbing past Lynne got me on a short, steep but well-protected pitch starting with a squeeze chimney, and finishing with blocky foot and handholds. Hmmm, squeeze chimneys and big packs don't mix well. We decided that Lynne should tie into the middle of the rope, tie the pack to the end, follow the pitch, and then we'd both haul the pack up to the belay. The plan worked flawlessly until we tried to haul the pack. Almost immediately, the pack snagged. Several carefully chosen curses and a couple mighty tugs on the rope freed it, and we were on our way.

Two wandering pitches, involving a traverse to the left of a big gendarme, onto a small, exposed ledge, and some third class snow scrambling got us to the peak. The pack began disgorging items: food, water, ice axes, and best of all, warm socks and boots. We ate, drank, and lounged in the warm afternoon sun.

The descent down the east couloir involved fun plunge-stepping on excellent snow. Soon, however, we hit the lower-angle glacier, which had been baking in the sun all day, and was just starting to crust over. A careful dance ensued, wherein we'd step daintily on the crust for a pace or two, then posthole up to our hips. We made a comical sight as we marched down the snowfield, one or more of us suddenly becoming three feet shorter. By the time we got back to camp, everyone was trashed.

We quickly dispatched with dinner, and toasted our success with shots of Bailey's as alpenglow lit Matterhorn Peak. It had been a long, sometimes trying day, but the highs more than made up for the lows. Steve, Liz, and Lynne had given me a great introduction to technical winter mountaineering, and I know I'll be back for more.

Matterhorn Peak, N. Arete (12,279 ft.)
Rating:	II, 5.5 or 5.6
FA:	Jerry Gallwas, Wally Kodis, Don Wilson. September, 1954.
Permits:	Toiyabe National Forest Bridgeport Ranger District P. O. Box 595 Bridgeport, CA 93517 (760) 932-7070
More Info:	Sierra Classics by J. Moynier and C. Fiddler