Steck-Salathe (An AvaJane Retro Report)

Steck/Salathe (A Retro Report)

Story by Brian

Well it's that time again, boys and girls, for another blast from the past when men were men and 5.9 was hard. It was a time when walls weren't done as much as now, and a time when the Steck/Salathe was probably on the down swing of popularity. No it's not the 60's (I'm not that old) it's 1979 and I've got a number 4 "friend" and a partner who can't free climb that well, but knew how to haul and climb aid. What else did we need?

For these decisions we'd pay dearly.

We were both slow so we knew we'd need to haul. To lighten the haul bag we shrewdly decided to leave behind about 3 pounds of sleeping bags as the summer had been warm. We were also cunning enough to leave behind extra water, and a spare flashlight. For all of the above decisions we'd pay dearly.

The difficulties of the route were quickly obvious. 5.7 climbing was 5.7, but it was sustained. The anchors weren't bolted, so we had to set up our hauling system and anchors with nuts and the number 4 friend. On pitches that used alot of gear, this led to difficult belays that could have been suspect if shock loaded by any problems with our hauling "system". Time was flying by!

As Dan was the aid master, I was slated to do all of the 5.9's on the route. The Roper guide called the Wilson Overhang "notorious" and a flared chimney. Now when you add up overhang, notorious, and flared chimney you get something that causes me to lose sleep. After 3 pitches of difficult climbing, I wasn't thrilled to be meeting Mr. Wilson. As it turned out, I think that this pitch was the only overated pitch on the route. Yes, the flared chimney was overhanging, but it took pro and the part climbed wasn't really overhanging - you kinda stayed outside of it and it was merely steep. Above, the guidebook had said difficult and "open chimney," but none of that had really registered with us. I think Dan was leading the chimney when it became obvious that he couldn't get thru it. Dan was pushing a solid 195 lbs, with much of it in his chest. He didn't fit. We switched ends and I got to the same spot with similar results. Going down was not an option as the belays weren't bolted.

My finances were such that leaving gear was unthinkable. We'd cheat death to save a buck twenty five. I quickly decided upon the only options. I took off my helmet, so I could turn my head in the squeeze, and I left my whole rack at the belay. I was almost as big as Dan and I just barely fit. The Meyers guide calles it a 5.9 squeeze. It was!

This was not fun in the "normal" sense...

After the squeeze, the book talked about a short steep jamcrack and then 200 feet of moderate climbing. In 1999 terms I'd say this was correct - in 1979 it was all hard. The cracks were steep and they all earned their grades. We got to the Flying Buttress shortly before dark and got set up for the night. Though I was 21 years old and in the shape of my life - I was beat. The mental stress was like an additional weight. Every belay had to be done just right. Each piece had to hold on the hauling system as not to shock the anchor. We were low on water, my first "big wall pendulum" was on the next pitch, 5.9 face was after that, and then the Narrows. This was not fun in the "normal" sense. Little did we know that the worst part of all was yet to come - those damned mice running across our shivering, rope blanketed legs all night. Yes, those warm summer nights had abruptly left, the morning we packed our haulbag without sleeping bags.

Tired, psychologically drained, dehydrated, and suffering from whatever the ill effects of another fucken night of freezing my ass off are called, I awoke to ring in the new day. We clusterfucked the start, and somehow got lost trying to get to the start of the headwall pitch. Dan led up and was surprised that the "fixed" headwall was not all that fixed and held some difficult placements. I followed on jugs, and took a long time figuring out how to follow the 30 foot traverse at the top of the headwall. The next pitch was difficult to protect face climbing, which for me is always a personal crux.

Dan had his hardest free climbing pitch above (5.8 chimney) and I was very surprised as I followed. The runouts were very substantial. It was the kind of pitch that Dan or I would have walked away from if on the ground. After a day and a half of hard climbing, he nailed it without a bitch, and he was climbing almost at his limit. Cool lead!

What followed is known as the "Narrows" and I was unprepared for it.

What could be the big deal with something rated 5.7?

Formidable, 5.7, famous, and claustrophobic had all been used to describe the "Narrows". I had no idea! I guess the rating on this stretch of darkness is very size dependant. Skinny bastards must be in luck! I had led most of the cool 5.10a cracks in the Valley. I had even gotten up one 10d that summer. I had done offwidths, and I had my number 4 friend. What could be the big deal with something rated 5.7? For half an hour, I was in a grim struggle for our lives. I know that sounds overly dramatic, but that was the reality of the situation. We didn't have the gear to rap. The fear of that many raps would have killed me anyway. We didn't have that much water left, and it was hot. There was nobody else on the whole North Face. Any rescue that might have been called out could have been too late. It was up or up. The whole time I fought to get into that narrow slot, I remained quiet, so as to use all my energy on the problem. Dan later made me feel more proud than I've ever felt; when he told me how impressed he had been with my mental control under such adversity. The Narrows were over, but the climb wouldn't give up.

We were in that zone where we didn't care so much about pain or fear.

The final pitches were all screwed up with chockstones in chimneys that made hauling a real bitch. We kept having to do all these contortions to get the pig up and around and out of these flared, ugly slots. By now the heat was winning the war with us, as our tiny slugs of water wern't enough to regenerate our dried-out bodies. The upside was that we were in that zone where we didn't care so much about pain or fear. We were also quite a bit lighter. I remember climbing the final 5.9 handcrack with ease and chaulking it up to the lost weight!

The only problem was that at the top of the crack it was dark, and hundreds of feet of easy climbing still remained. In another strong effort, Dan muscled the haulbag on his back and led the final feet to the top. Now for all you wussies who bitch about North Dome Gully, get your butts up here and walk down in the dark. It's been 20 long years, but I think our light went out, and I know we spent another night freezing and without any water. We collapsed on a bit of steep sand and passed out in between the shivering fits.

The worst part of it was that we were right below a waterfall which we could plainly hear but not get to. Damn the luck. Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you how great we felt on the summit. I guess I don't remember. I cursed that route for about 5 or 6 years and then - very slowly - started to get a fondness for it. I'm not sure why.

Brian (avajane@aol.com)

PS Please, if anyone knows Dan, have him look me up.