Largo
Sport climber
The Big Wide Open Face
Nov 25, 2016 - 07:27pm PT
Here. I removed the one offending mention of the sponsor.
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Trip Report: Free Climbing the West Face of Sentinel
In the fall of 2014 and 2015, a popular outdoor clothing brand sponsored a two-week Yosemite Camp for their athletes to project routes. I was in charge, though I never quite knew what that meant. We had a big rental house in Yosemite West and a hefty food budget we burned through in the first few days, mostly on booze. Celebrated dirtbags streamed into the crib like ants to a hole. It felt like a scene out of Animal House.
The first year we filmed a few projects and had a blast. In 2015 we pulled for a piece of history, and got it, including Libby Sauter and Alix Morris' fem speed record on the Salathe Wall. But I still felt the team was underutilized, and as putative field marshal, was merely marching my troops down the beaten path. Few on the team were Yosemite regulars but they could all climb like nobody's business, so for 2016 I shot for the moon.
Several all-time routes had for years lingered in my mind like unrequited lovers, climbs that thwarted my sincerest advances and which I still dreamed upon in the wee hours, whenever the night came undone. If anybody could manage these routes it was this crew. All us climbers come and go but these last great routes were treasures for the ages, a part of our collective soul fixed in stone, that dared to live on in the Valley of light. As I watched many old climbing partners fade to black, these treasures seemed worth fighting for.
The first treasure was the West Face of Sentinel (FA, Tom Frost and Yvon Chouinard, 1960), the third "Golden Age" big wall accomplished, after the Northwest Face of Half Dome in 1957, and El Cap's Nose Route in 1958. Sentinel West Face, like most iconic Yosemite walls, follows prominent features up a great granite face, a bona fide classic "line." Seminal Golden Age climbs are the most striking and obvious in the valley, and were uniformly bagged in the 1960s by a core group of Yosemite pioneers, primarily Royal Robbins, Tom Frost, Warren Harding, Tom Frost, Chuck Pratt and Yvon Chouinard. Their legacy includes the aforesaid Regular Route on Half Dome and the Nose on El Cap, plus the East Face of Washington Column (Astroman), Rostrum North Face, Quarter Dome, Leaning Tower, the Salathe, Muir, and North American Walls on El Cap, and a handful of other must-do classics.
The golden age was barely over (roughly 1968) when successive generations charged into the valley with evolving skill and equipment. Quite naturally, the iconic routes and variations thereof became the focus of intense free climbing campaigns resulting in the most sought after pure free climbs in the world. My hope for the 2016 camp was to add two more to that bucket list - starting with the West Face of Sentinel - and to document the effort in the process.
For several years, Ben Rueck had torn up the western states, climbing a succession of 5.14s in both sport and trad venues. Strangely, he'd never climbed in the Yosemite, but agreed to tackle the West Face as his first valley route. Ben questioned this strategy, suggesting he first get jiggy with the glacier polished granite by way of a couple trade routes. But I didn't have time for Ben to ease into the game, so he'd have to go big straight out of his truck.
Ben arrived in the valley the night before we arrived, stopping at the popular Tunnel Overlook (the iconic valley panorama featured on a million post cards) at midnight. Ben thought it strange that, despite the moonless night, there were so few stars in the sky - till realizing that El Cap and Half Dome were blotting out half the sky. He nearly turned around and drove back to Grand Junction.
Support, so vital on these mega projects, would come from veteran valley climber, AMGA supervisor and gym owner, Marcus Garcia, rigger Devo Derby, renown on-cliff photographer John Evans ("Jevans"), photographer and Adidas media manager, Ted Distel, long-lens shooter and Yosemite legend, "El Cap" Tom Evans, and myself.
Gaining the base of the West Face of Sentinel is no gimme, but Marcus had soloed the route back in the day so I figured the approach was small beer. Except I hadn't factored in the 660-foot monster coil of static line, the 3-gallon plastic jugs of water and haystack of other crapola needed to rig the wall for filming and to project the route, not to mention schlepping that cargo 45-minutes up the Four-Mile Trail, then the intricate traverse across the bushy 4th class ramps below Sentinel and around the horn to the tree-covered ledge below the West Face. When Ben, Marcus and Jevans loaded up for that first hump up to the cliff they each bore crushing loads and kept harping over the walkie talkie how I'd sand-bagged them into a death march. Tom and I, smoking cigars and following their progress on the long lens in a shady clearing far below, showed no mercy.
Hooblie, great share , bring both (the picture again) here to the Flames,
with this photo,!? it is ok to only remember what one can
thnx, for the snap, Big H
The plan was for the team to climb up to the top of the fourth pitch, to the hanging belay beneath the notorious Dogleg Crack, the storied, 200-foot long lightning-bolt jam crack visible from the valley floor. They'd string a top rope off the bolts beneath the Dogleg, then Ben could boulder out a free line over the last remaining aid on that fourth lead. He wouldn't be the first to try.
I'd first climbed the West Face back in 1973, fresh out of high school, with the late, great Kim Schmitz. Over the following two seasons I logged half a dozen other attempts and eliminated all the aid but a 50-foot section pitch 4. With modern techniques and modern talent - weaned on wheatgrass, gyms and hangboards - I hoped the route would go free.
The original fourth pitch follows the infamous "A5 Expanding Flake," a down-slanting granite wafer Chouinard pitoned across on the first ascent, each successive pin placement loosening the one he was standing on. A blank corner shoots up from the flake for 30-feet to thin cracks bisecting a super slab leading to the hanging belay below the Dog Leg Crack.
During my various attempts during the 1970s, armed with hexes and stoppers, the A5 Flake seemed unlikely as a free option, so on my last free effort with Bill Price, we ventured up and right, placing a bolt beneath a 25-foot span of steep but featured wall. The climbing above looked possible but far too steep to place another, and crucial, protection bolt while free climbing on the lead - the only kosher technique back then - so it was game over for me on the West Face. Others followed (most notably, John Bachar and Scott Cosgrove), hoping to free the noble West Face. Both Bachar (soloing fall) and Cosgrove (who never fully recovered from a 40-foot groundfall from a crane, while rigging lines for a TV show) have since died, so exactly what they did up there is probably more folklore than fact.
Bachar was said to have free climbed the A5 flake at 5.12, but got shut down by the corner above. Cosgrove, working on aid off my initial bolt on the right hand variation, fixed a nut in a flake and punched in a second aid bolt, then freed up and horizontally left out a roof above, at 5.12, finishing on 25-feet of brave 5.10+ face climbing up to the sling belay beneath the Dog Leg Crack. Thirty years later, I figured either the A5 flake and corner, or the right hand face, had to go free.
With the loads finally in place on the ledges beneath the West Face, Ben and Marcus cast off up the first pitch, a right-slanting bombay flare rated 5.9+. Up above, the flare narrows requiring tricky 5.10d transfer moves left to a flake and crack system riffling up the face. When Ben finally thrutched his way to the hanging belay, tying off two 56-year old Chouinard bolts, he grabbed the walkie talkie and ranted fulsomely.
"5.9 my ass, Largo. And I've climbed easier 5.12s than that changing cracks bit. And these bolts are rusted through. And what's with this slick rock? Dooooooood! You're killing me up here!"
Down in the meadow, peering through his long lens, Tom blew out a cloud of cigar smoke and said, "Welcome to Yosemite, son..."
The next lead is a quintessential, 5.11 Yosemite splitter running from fingers to tight hands, a pitch I recalled as one of the finest pure cracks in the valley. Sadly, for Ben and Marcus, it was full of gravel and soot. Throughout the 60s and 70s a regular conga line of leading climbers queued up to repeat the West Face. But when word got out in the 80s that it would "never" go free, and as El Cap became the axis of modern valley free climbing, the West Face fell out of favor. Thirty years of spring runoff had since freighted the lower cracks with choss. After Ben fought and frigged his way up the splitter to a good stance at "Tree Ledge," 120 feet overhead, the rest of the day was spent dredging and wire brushing the splitter and the lower flare (sheathed in moss) till both were clean as Plymouth Rock. They also replaced the old bolts with sound hardware. The table was set: only the next pitch stood between them and the free send. But it wouldn't come easy.
Then Kevin (KJ) Jorgeson showed up.
KJ, recently married, was fresh off a Balinese honeymoon and was dying to get his lyback on. The Dawn Wall epic had thrust KJ and partner Tommy Caldwell onto the international stage in a way never before experienced by adventure athletes. His dirtbag days were largely behind him but in the ways that mattered, KJ remains the selfsame, soft-spoken kid from Santa Rosa who dreams huge and pulls down like all get out. He needed another big project to get back up to ramming speed and the West Face fit that bill. He and Ben were fast friends and made an excellent team to try and dick the remaining aid.
Day two. Marcus aided up the original A5 flake and corner and rigged a top rope at the sling belay beneath the Dog Leg crack. Ben set to work, free climbing out the flake at 5.12+, then spending the next hour working out a heinous sequence of bleak layaways, tip locks and Gaston side pulls up the corner. The whole shebang would probably go, but would take more time than we had to link and send. So when KJ tied in and cast off, he b-lined out right to the face variation, cranking a 5.11 move up to the rusty quarter-inch coffin nail bolt I'd sunk in 1977, then reefed onto powerful face climbing past the fixed nut up to the last bolt Cosgrove placed in the 1980s. Barely a dozen feet separated KJ from the roof above, which purportedly already went free.
Below in the meadow, Tom and I were glued to the little digital display on his camera, whose 1,000 power telephoto pulled KJ in tight. When KJ jacked his feet onto high holds, coiled and started windmillinig his right arm, I said, "He's gonna jump for it." And he did, launching up and sticking a rounded jug hold, deadpointing for a second before pitching off into a harmless swing. He stuck it a five tries later, muscled out the undercling, styled up the tricky face climbing above and lowered off the anchors to Tree Ledge.
A KJ only comes along every few generations. Neither the strongest or boldest man on the mountain, few move as fluidly, as if the sport was made just for them, or as thoughtfully, fashioning creative solutions on the fly and in short order. If Kevin's sideways dyno on the Dawn Wall is the most famous jump in climbing, this easier installment on the West Face might prove the most popular.
Ben tied in and after a half a dozen goes he too stuck the big dyno and quickly disposed of the 5.12 undercling and fingery face duty up to the belay. The wall above already went free at 5.11. Now all the boys had to do was lead the beast, bottom to top, in one push, and they'd have a modern-day classic.
The climbing team took a much-needed break after three days of humping loads up to the West Face and sessioning and cleaning the wall. Rigger and workhorse Devo Derby showed up just in time to join Jevans (who runs ultramarathons in his down time), muscle a 60-pound spool of static rope to the top of Sentinel and string 900 feet of it down to the Dog Leg belay (Jevenas would shoot video while dangling from this line). Devo had never been on a wall before but by the end of that first day he'd rapped and fixed the entire, 1,600 foot face.
Day 3. We stumbled out of bed at 4 a.m., pounded coffee, porridge and eggs and the crew set off for the send while Tom and I settled into the meadow with the long lens and Ted drove up to Taft Point and broke trail out past Sentinel Dome and over to the rim where he commanded a spectacular camera angle of the entire West Face, as if shooting from a blimp. Tom and I kept checking in with "Theodore," up there all by his lonesome, fearing he'd get weepy with no company (his solitary task won him several kisses on the cheek from various housemates). Tom said to quit coddling the boy who needed to "man-up" and do his job. Tom was a Captain in the army if you're wondering, and he logged multiple trips up El Cap, including the third ascent of the Muir Wall, during furloughs.
By the time the team gained the base of the West Face at 6 a.m., KJ was turning green. He finally stumbled off and starting yaking into the dogwood trees. Something about those pizza pies we'd scarfed the previous night. It seemed like we were hosed. Half an hour later KJ shook it off, said he was "about 65 percent," and agreed to head up, taking it a pitch at a time. Two hours later, he and Ben were staring up at the fourth pitch. Game time.
Ben muscled up the lyback flake, out the stiff finger traverse, motored up the face to the high bolt, hucked the dyno and flew off. Again and again. He wasn't even close to latching the jug. Ben lowered off and Kevin took the lead. And he too never got close to sticking the jump. What seemed like a done deal, two days before on a top rope, was suddenly feeling remote.
Who knows what triggers a change in heart, how people find that secret cash of gusto and rise to the occasion, but after brooding on Tree Ledge for a few minutes, as our mutual dreams dangled in midair, Ben tied back in, grappled back up to the jump move and stuck it straightaway, then powered up to the belay without pause. But he and KJ had agreed on a "team free" approach, and they couldn't charge for glory and the complete free ascent till KJ successfully flashed the lead as well. And he did, on his next try, a command performance if ever I'd seen one. A couple hours earlier KJ was puking his guts out. Now he and Ben were poised to bag a master route that in could possibly become as popular as Astroman. I felt proud to ever know these guys.
But the fun was just beginning for Ben and KJ.
During the first ascent, Tom Frost led the first Dog Leg pitch (110 feet of flaring fist and wide crack, rated 5.9+) using only one wooden wedge hammered into the crack. When Royal Robbins and Chouinard did the second ascent in 1964, Robbins led the first Dog Leg with no pro whatsoever. KJ, huffing and puffing and slotting cams all the way up, was rather amazed at what the old guard had managed 56 years before, climbing in hiking boots. Ben - by no means fluent in greasy Yosemite "wide" - tackled the second Dog Leg, a ruthless squeeze, thrutching and whimpering the whole way, cussing the day his parents ever met.
Afternoon was settling over the wall when Kevin charged out onto pitch eight, a brilliant 120-foot 5.10d splitter ranging from fingers to shallow off width, ending in a spectacular hanging belay 500-feet below the summit, and all over burnished, fine-grained granite. From the belay, Ben climbed up and left over a chromium smooth slab to a 56-year old Chouinard bolt protecting 5.10a friction moves, hoping his feet didn't blow (they didn't replace the old bolt in order to retain full flavor).
Down in the meadow, as Ben and KJ chugged up the last few moderate pitches to broken ground below the summit, I knew these guys had managed a resurrection of sorts, pulling back to life one of the proudest walls in the valley and what future generations will no doubt embrace as not just another classic free climb, but a full-value Yosemite experience, with an approach march and technical trek up the ramps below the towering North Face, a flawless, air-ball wall climb featuring everything from dynos to squeeze chimneys, a true summit where a team can stand on a regular mountaintop, feeling like gods and watch the sun set over El Cap, three miles distant, then a laborious tromp down Sentinel gully to regain the trail and the tired march back to the world of cars and people.
POSTSCRIPT
Big Bob Gains! Thnx man I was doomed to take after your physique!
Two days after Ben and KJ's first free ascent, YOSAR climbers Ryan Sheridan, Erik Sloan, Cameron Ganley, and Brenna Engstrand, ventured onto the West Face and replaced the last of the bad bolts, including the "coffin nail" on pitch four, and the two Frost/Chouinard nails at the sling belay beneath the Dog Leg Cracks. In addition, using everything but jeweler's rouge, they cleaned, brushed and polished first two pitches till they gleamed like gems of the purest water. Future parties will find a fully restored masterpiece, with newly installed hardware at the bolt belays and bomber gear available at all others.
A small selection of wires, a double rack of cams (triple on finger to tight hand sizes) plus a 5-inch cam for extra security round out the rack for a one day flash ascent. Allow 1.5 hours for the approach, and a solid hour for the descent down Sentinel Gulley back to the Four Mile Trail, and 30 minutes from there down to the road. Headlamps advised. Allow 8-10 hours for the ascent. 1,600 feet. 10-12 pitches (depending if you string leads 1&2 and the moderate chimneys at the end).
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