The Sentinel

The last time Norman and I made it to Yosemite was in January. Since then Norman and I have planned seven weekend trips which all have been cancelled. Five times a storm blew in just in time for the weekend, once I got sick and the last time Norman had to take care of his mother who, as a side-effect of the largest terrorist-attack in the US' history, got trapped in Europe. On top of that, Norman's toes got frostbitten in Alaska and kept him from climbing for the whole summer. So, when we crossed the border to Yosemite national park early an October morning, with the forecast spelling blue skies for the whole weekend, we thought that finally the gods were on our side. How wrong we were!

Our plan was to climb the 'Chouinard-Herbert' route on the north face of the Sentinel, 15 pitches with mixed free and aid climbing. Although Norman told me it had one of the worst approaches in Yosemite, none of us could imagine it would be that bad. Starting hiking at 5.30am we made good progress up the '4-mile trail' although Norman, who is astmatic, coughed and hissed like a person dying but by now I know this is the way he normally sounds. But shortly after we left the trail and headed up along the creek the first sign that the gods still hate us appeared when Norman announced that a wasp had stung him and he felt dizzy. Resting for a while to make sure he didn't got a allergic reaction we continued up to the ramp which cuts across the north face from left to right. Carrying the 'pig' on my back I was happy to find fixed ropes on the exposed sections of the ramp, and still on schedule we reached the section where we were supposed to cut back to the left along another ramp, or at least we thought so, to reach the base of our route. However, everything which looked like ramps heading in that direction looked like it required climbing, and as far as we knew we shouldn't have to climb to reach the base of our climb. Scouting for a possible way up, I noticed a fixed rope leading up a steep slab. Well this must be it I thought and started jumaring with the 'pig' on my back. The rope led up to a tree and of course the pig got stuck in the tree's branches, but with some help from Norman we managed to free it. Luckily the ropes continued, so we happily continued jugging, making slow but steady progress, praising the guys who put up these ropes. Although the ropes didn't lead straight up to our route they seemed to be following a ramp system up to a ledge which would take us back to the right side of the face, completing our zig-zag. Finally Norman reached the ramp where some climbers had made a camp among some trees. Catching up with Norman he is still dry-heaving from the climb, and when I ask him how he is doing he replies by vomiting. A rest seems appropriate and we remove our packs and sit down to catch our breath. Norman tries some water but it immediately comes up the same way it went down. Silently I curse the gods and wonder what they have against us. Maybe it is the church thing ? Church is on Sundays and of course we want to climb then. But as an old Norweigian climber said: "It's better to be in the mountains thinking of god than being in church thinking of mountains."

After a while I tell Norman that I really want to climb this wall but that I understand if he want to retreat given his condition. His reply is exactly what I want to hear: "I so badly want to do this wall. Let's continue slowly and see if I get better, and besides that I never want to do this approach again." Couldn't agree more!
During the rest it has become apparent to us that the promising ledge is a dead end. Apparently we should have left the ropes and the ramp a couple of hundred feet below, so it is nothing to do but to shoulder our packs and head down the ramp. I climb a dirty crack leading up to a tree with some slings, and after some scrambling we are finally at the base of our climb. The time is 2pm, eight and a half hours after we started hiking, and four times what the guidebook suggests for the approach.

I am really psyched and try to think positively. Instead of thinking on the hours wasted on the approach I think about the remaining hours of daylight. We still have time to do the four pitches to the bivy at the top of Chestnut pillar and maybe fix one or two more pitches above it. This should leave us with 9-10 pitches for the next day, hard but not impossible. Quickly I climb the first 5.6/4th class pitch, not bothering to put any gear in. I haul while Norman jugs. It is apparent that he feels like shit, but when he appears at the belay he is smiling and joking, as always. This inspires me to run up the next pitch too, putting us at the base of the 5.7 chimney.

The chimney is only fun, not scary, but luckily I had bought knee pads for this trip. I have some trouble exiting the chimney, but by aiding on a friend I managed to get out of it and soon I can fix the rope to a tree and start hauling. The next pitch is a 5.8 crack which I had anticipated to free-climb, but the crack is steep and awkward, so I quickly pull out my etriers, and aidclimb to the belay and bivy ledge.

When Norman joins me at our bivy it's almost 6pm. I still want to finish this route so after some water and snacks I decide to fix the next aid pitch. Norman tells me to bring a headlamp and first I think "Why ? I will finish this pitch in no time. It's only A1.", but decide (wisely) to bring it anyway. When I start climbing it feels really awkward and insecure. I am at the end of long and tiring day and it has been a long time since I have aidclimbed. The placements are all solid cams or nuts but I still transfer my weight slowly to each new piece, expecting it to pull any second. Slowly I make progress and half-way I have to turn on my headlamp. Finally, when I have used most of our cams, I reach the belay and I rap down to Norman. 5 pitches done only ten to go!

We start to organise our bivy, carefully making sure that everything is clipped into the anchors. Since I am the biggest guy I get to sleep on the flattest boulder, while Norman squeeze into a slot between the wall and my boulder. At this point we have gone on for so long with so little water and food that it is hard to eat and drink. But we know we need it so we force us to eat our food. The evening is warm and beautiful, with the full moon throwing a silvery light on El Cap and the valley, and watching the stars we slowly fall asleep. However, my boulder turns out to be not that comfortable, and I wake up several times trying in vain to find a better position.

The next morning we both feel pretty beat up, and although we know we have to get up by the first daylight to have a chance of finishing the route, we linger for a while in our sleeping bags. During breakfast we are both determined to continue but when Norman rises and start organizing our gear he feels dizzy. It's apparent that at most Norman might be jumaring today, leading is out of the question. Contemplating on leading all of the remaining pitches it is not easy for me to reach the conclusion that we should retreat. Norman agrees, and we start packing our haulbag preparing for a looong descent......

Last Update 2001-10-09