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Sentinel Rock, Steck-Salathé Route By: Inez Drixelius | Climbers: Inez Drixelius, Bruce Bindner, Allen Steck |Trip Dates: July 4th weekend, 1994 |
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Photo: Gary Clark |
® The author(s) and naclassics.com | |
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Climbing With a Legend
It isn't often that one meets a climbing legend and it is even rarer when the legend becomes a friend. One such friend I am proud to claim is none other than Allen Steck, the Steck of Yosemite fame, the man who did too many first ascents to cite without losing count. The mountaineer who conquered the Hummingbird Ridge on Mt. Logan, a route still to see its second ascent. Allen, the first man to have climbed El Capitan (the magnificent East Buttress), Allen who has climbed all over the world with people whose names we now see on backpacks, gear, magazines, historical accounts, you name it, Steck has been there, done it. A route I had been yearning to do ever since I began climbing in Yosemite Valley was the Steck-Salathé on the Sentinel. An ominous giant, the Sentinel hovers over the Valley floor, every bit as foreboding and imposing as all the others. Over 40 years ago a young, but already experienced Allen Steck and an older John Salathé, who at the age of 42 began a stellar climbing career, teamed up to climb the Sentinel, thus establishing a 15 pitch route that to this day is considered a classic climb demanding a strong body, a multitude of techniques and offering some of the finest views in Yosemite. Due to its notorious reputation for chimneys and offwidths the route doesn't suffer from overcrowding like so many of the fine long free climbs in Yosemite. The approach is slabby and exposed and the Sentinel gully descent route has a reputation that makes the feared North Dome Gully seem trivial by comparison. My climbing skills are by no means poor, however, that route features so many hard wide cracks, run-out chimneys and offwidths that leading every pitch is still inconceivably frightening. My climbing partner, Bruce Bindner, a wide crack rope gun who is always on the lookout for willing wide crack victims, had found in me an eager partner to worm up 1200 feet of chimney. Matching our schedules, we voted for the weekend of July 4, 1994. This was, after all the 44th anniversary of the first ascent. Allen and I had become great chums by that time, frequently having dinner together, going bouldering or even to the gym. Our get-togethers were often sessions of story telling and accounts of past adventures and future dreams. What this man has never lost in all the decades of his climbing is an enthusiasm and zest seldom seen in a person his age, or any age, for that matter. He claims to not have learned to lie-back until he was 50 and though he has pins in his ankles from a fall taken some years ago, he moves over stone like a cat. A literary man, with a great sense of humor and a wonderfully open mind, he is at all times good company and his gentle nature and willing attitude makes him a terrific companion on the rock. I had previously climbed the East Buttress of El Capitan with Allen as part of a foursome, climbing in two teams of two. How could I get on another Steck route without Steck? Unthinkable! We asked him to join us and he agreed. Bruce and I were thrilled, though going up as a team of three and starting midday to benefit from the best lighting for photography, meant a 2-day ascent, with a bivouac and a large rucksack to haul. This would be my first grade V and my first wall. And my first "planned" bivy.... We set off midmorning on the dicey approach, gingerly scrambling over exposed slabs and scree, Bruce carrying most of the load i.e., the water, and opting to put on climbing shoes when the going got tough. We stood at the base at noon, gazing up the first inviting 5.7 wide slot, that has chased more than one team to the Chouinard-Herbert next door, a harder but more straight forward route. Bruce proceeded to lead and we wriggled our way up, emitting our first loud base grunts that would gurgle from our throats for almost all of the route. Pitch 2 was fun, doable, so was pitch 3, which was steep and exciting. Pitch 4, the famed Wilson Overhang, was to be my lead. At 5.8, I was ready to go, ignoring warnings that this pitch was scary and hard. After all, what can go wrong at 5.8? First, I had to pose for Allen's camera. The Silver Fox (a nickname given him some 20 years ago) smiled in anticipation of my impending exercise in humility. The #5 Yates I placed popped out and hit me on the forehead. Scared, I turned around, trying to find a feasible way to get myself up the slot. Impossible, I became terrified and backed off. There was a fine example of bravery before the first ascentionist himself. (and he won't let me forget it either....) Bruce chomped at the bit, jumped on the lead and suddenly slowed down. Bruce negotiating an 8? This was a frightening prospect and once he pulled through the slot and worked his way up the system above, we finally heard the "Belay off" shout from above. It was time for Allen to follow and his loud complaints that something was amiss and "damn what is wrong here," added to my confusion. Later the mystery was solved - a flake had broken off. We have photos to prove it and thus the Wilson Overhang has been re-rated 10. I followed Allen, glad that I didn't have to go through with this lead, the pitch just didn't ease off at all. This was my introduction to those Valley "moderates" that are harder and scarier than we care to admit. We climbed through an offwidth and run-out face section up the Flying Buttress, approaching its top via a horrible wide crack system that is benignly shown as 5.7 on the topo. I led, working very hard physically and mentally, panting to a tiny stance featuring a hanging belay. It was now quite dark. Allen was seconding, with Bruce gazing up, looking concerned. Allen was becoming quite vocal by then. When Steck gets "religion" he calls on the mother, the son, the father and then some. He took a jolty fall and I heard a loud wail: "Where the hell is the 5.7?" "I don't know, Steck, you put up the climb, you tell me." "I sure as hell didn't rate the damn thing!! Someone else did that!" Thus began a series of comments and recollections that made this climb so very special. Allen's memory is impeccable and his mimicking of John Salathé's accent and manner of speech was like a stand-up comedy show. We climbed toward the top of the Flying Buttress and decided to bivy just beneath the summit on a blocky ledge that barely hosted us, but at least it wasn't sloping like the sandy option up above. We nestled into our sleeping positions, I distributed the space blankets and we were perched like 3 tidy burritos, aluminum glistening in the dark. The chef, Allen, produced some very tasty wall food, the experience of decades concentrated in one tightly packed baggie for each of us. Dried fruit, some sort of energy cake that actually tasted like real food, all prepared by Steck himself. Now, 4 decades later, a proud John Salathé would laud Allen's diet. Salathé attributed Allen's "weaknesses" to carnivorous eating habits. We munched, drank and settled into a restless sleep; well, Bruce and I did anyway. Steck snored like an old hound, steadily and pleasantly. There was a wall climber who knew how to sleep! Early the next morning, Bruce the rope gun was clinking biners and shuffling about and I felt like kicking him. I had sunk into that pre-dawn deep sleep and it was time to get up and squeeze once again through the bowels of the Sentinel. This climb never lets off and as you feel exhaustion coming over you, another terrifying 5.9 wide monster looms above. The top of the Flying Buttress features a tunnel and a rappel, which makes the route A0, to the base of the final wall. There lies in waiting a beauty of a 5.9 crack, steep and hard, challenging the climber to just about any crack technique thinkable. Then, a run-out face pitch that had me shaking in my sticky shoes, coaxing me off route into blankness, unleashing more Steck religion, wondering what the hell had happened to all the pitons he and Salathé had placed. Some adventuresome down climbing and yet another rescue by Bruce finally brought us to the base of the great chimney that leads upwards to the famous and infamous Narrows. Gazing at the great chimney, the run-out monster of them all, admiring Bruce's never-ending skill and tenacity, Allen mused: "Jesus, Mary, Mother of God, people really lead that?!!!" "Well, Steck," I replied, marveling at Bruce's fearlessness, "how the hell did you and Salathé do it then?" "See this?" He pointed at a dark slot well inside the chimney, "I chimneyed up through this slot, totally in the dark, to reach the base of the Narrows." *** At the base of the Narrows, we re-grouped and watched Bruce disappear. Allen followed, promptly getting stuck as he had failed to untie his windbreaker from his waist. Lots of religion again and as I watched him slither up I suddenly and painfully realized that he wasn't dragging a rope. Stunned that even the best and most experienced climbers can make "dumb beginner" mistakes, I sheepishly asked if he intended for me to climb this pitch too. Slightly irritated he snapped: "What else are you going to do?" "Without a rope Allen? You want me to solo this?" The saints were called upon and they greatly assisted us with some intricate maneuvers to bring the rope up to Allen who with the greatest skill managed to make enough room around his waist to clip in the rope. We all had a good laugh about that once at the belay. We stopped laughing soon, however, as Bruce, undoubtedly in a Freudian attempt to repeat the scenario of the first ascent, dropped our water. The 20 year veteran dropped our water! What had happened to my masters? Was there anything worse I could do now? I tried not to think about dehydration. None of us did! It was getting late and we still had some hard climbing to do, but the end was in sight and we yearned to reach the big tree, which marks the end of this vertical adventure and is the gateway to a gentle 5.6 slabby pitch, cozily referred to as "the scramble to the top." Bruce decided to bring us to the top as quickly and efficiently as safety allowed and there was no further discussion as to who was going to lead what. He was going to take care of us and neither Allen, nor I objected. Allen was amazingly calm and collected, nothing new and exciting here. He knew all about what it was like to be thirsty. He vividly described how he gazed upon the Merced River during the first ascent some 44 years ago and had wanted nothing more out of life than to drink from that river. The rest of the story is uneventful, except, of course, Allen's lead in the dark to the top, some of it without a belay, as Bruce was hauling me up to the big tree. We slept on top, thirsty but not ill. Refreshed in the morning and ready for the long descent we got to enjoy yet another of Steck's recreations: "I'm going dot vay," Salathé had announced with his strong accent and disappeared into one direction, while Allen had gotten himself royally lost on the descent. He had almost jumped 30 feet off a wall to get to the creek and life saving water and in a last desperate attempt, negotiated another 2 hours to finally reach water and his salvation. He didn't see Salathé again for 8 hours. Back in the Valley, we showered and drank ourselves silly, topping it off with beer and chips (Steck NEVER drinks beer!) and on our way home, Allen and I stopped at a barbecue pit in Groveland and gorged on ribs and red meat. John Salathé would NOT have approved. What have Allen and I climbed since? Many routes in many different places, but none will stay with me as intensely as the Steck Salathé. In May of 1995 Bruce rebolted the route's anchors. And in June, Bruce, a friend from Arizona and I returned to climb it once again. This time in a day, a very long day. The route was every bit as scary, strenuous and wonderful as I had remembered it and I fell in love with it all over again. Will I repeat it? What do you think? And Steck? What does he have up his sleeve? I won't tell now, but rumor has it that he'll be ascending the Sentinel again in 2000. What route? We shall see, we shall see. *** The passage in back of the great chimney has since been blocked by rockfall and is no longer accessible. |
