Matterhorn Peak, part 1

By Mike Sarmiento © 1998 with some revisions by Angela Sarmiento.

Matterhorn Peak, Hoover Wilderness, Toiyobe National Forest
Eastern Sierra Mountains
Sept 4-7, 1998

Climbers:  Steve Sosa, Mike Sarmiento
Hikers:  Karen Schwartz, Angela Wemyss

For the third year in a row, I made a summit bid for Matterhorn Peak via
the North Arete route ( III, 5.6).   Matterhorn Peak is located in the
Sawtooth Ridge area just south of Twin Lakes.  It is slightly north of
Yosemite's Tuolumne Meadows.   Unlike the western side of the Sierra
Mountains, the SR area has dramatic mountain formations similar to the
Grand Tetons in Wyoming.  Incredible scenery.  Classic route.

Because of the area's majestic beauty, it is also a popular destination
for day hikers and backpackers.  The forest service thus instituted a
quota system for all overnight visitors, limiting the number of back
country permits to 9 people per day for the Horsecreek Trailhead.  Even
though it was a three day weekend, it was unlikely that we'd run into a
lot of people.

This year, I put all my ducks in a row to guarantee success.  I applied
for a permit in March for the Labor Day three day weekend.  I hooked up
with a climbing partner who has climbed for over 20 years, trad leads
5.12+, climbed numerous big wall routes up El Capitan, gone trekking
through Nepal's Anna Purna region, and has the same climbing philosophy
and style as I do.  One year, Steve lived in Yosemite Valley for a
summer and climbed full time, living off of $5 a week (possible if you
only eat oat meal and top ramen, and finish off the plates of friends
who come to visit you).   In short, Steve is one of the most experienced
climbers with whom I have ever climbed AND he's a great guy.  I planned
the trip in early September instead of October to take advantage of a
longer day and better weather.  I made inquiries with other climbers who
have done the route to make sure we stayed on route and would not get
spanked by the mountain.  Finally, the third time is always a charm.

The drive from San Francisco takes you over Ebbett's Pass via Hwy 108.
It takes about 5 1/2 hours and the last 2 hours over the mountain range
makes it all worth while.  Angela, Karen and myself left at 6:15am and
arrived in Bridgeport at 12:30.  We weren't scheduled to meet Steve, who
was driving up from LA, until 1pm.

On Saturday, we started hiking from Twin Lakes (7,800 feet) at 3:32 pm
and made camp at 10,200 feet just after 6:30.   We made dinner, shared a
bottle of Chianti, and Steve and I planned Sunday's climbing day.  We
would wake up at 6am, make the 1 1/2 hour hike to the base of the climb,
bag the climb, then head back in time for a late lunch with Angela &
Karen.

Unfortunately, the weather didn't look cooperative Saturday evening.  It
rained intermittently while we ate dinner, and the clouds didn't look as
if they would dissipate soon.  The sky, and our climbing plans, were
looking grim.

I slept as much as I could Saturday night, trying not to think about my
dissappointment if I couldn't climb.  The rain smattering against my
tent fly didn't help.

At 6:30am Steve woke me with an announcement that it was cloudy and it
didn't look too good.  My heart sank but I got out of the tent and my
cozy sleeping bag anyway.

"What do you think?" he asked me.

"I say we make the approach to the base anyway.  If the weather is bad,
we turn around.  If it's good, we climb."

Steve agreed.

It took us 2 1/2 hours to get to the base.  One problem was that I
brought my running shoes for the trip instead of my mountaineering
boots, with the desire to save weight on the approach.  Instead of
speeding me up, it slowed me down, even though I had an ice axe for the
steep snow approach.  I had to self belay a few times and follow Steve's
foot steps.   I took a number of incredible photos of our approach.
Each year  I've visited,  Matterhorn Peak never disappoints me with her
beauty and this year was no exception.

The weather looked clear, our spirits were up, my breathing short, and
our stomachs semi-full of energy bars.  We donned our harnasses, racked
up, flaked the rope, and got ready to climb.

Steve led the first pitch, which took up 140 feet of his rope.  He told
me that if the climbing was easy, we would simul-climb through the first
and second pitches to save time.  (Normally, when one climbs, there is a
follower and a leader.  The follower belays the leader in case of a
fall. Some climbers "simul-climb" to save time, whereby both the leader
and follower climb at the same time and there is no belayer.  The weight
of the follower will stop the fall of the leader, and the leader can
stop the fall of the follower.  Communication is essential for this
technique.)  When Steve had 25 feet of rope left,  I let him know that
we were running out of rope.  If he needed to set up belay anchors, he
would need to do it soon.

"Off belay," he yelled to me.  This meant that we wouldn't simul-climb
after all.

I followed and met him at the ledge where he set up the first belay
station.

"Hello!" I greeted him with a big smile on my face.  "There you are!"

He met me with a worried look on his face.

"What do you think of those clouds?" he asked me.

I turned around and looked to our south-east.

What I saw didn't look good.  High lenticular clouds full of moisture,
dark grey, and approaching fast.  The sun was nowhere to be seen.

"Doesn't look good," I replied.

"Yeah," he added, "It would be against my better judgement to continue."

"I agree.  Let's turn around."

"That's what I think too.  But I feel bad for you.  I know this is your
third attempt.  That's why I set up this belay and didn't continue.  I
wanted to see how you felt about going on."

"Well, the mountain will always be here.  I'll just come back again next
year."

"Ok then.  You down climb and set pro.  I'll belay."

As I descended, it started to rain.  I got back to the base and Steve
started to down climb.  The weather cleared after we got off the route.
Then it got worse.  Then it cleared.  Nature teased us all the way down
to camp.

"Well," I told Steve as we descended, "If you come back from the
mountain alive, then you've made the right decision no matter what."

"Actually," Steve added, "You should come off the mountain in one
piece."

We came down in one piece.

For the third year in a row, Matthorn and the weather denied me the
summit.  But the experience of being in the mountains was well worth the
effort.  I shared a weekend with my fiance, a good friend, and a new
climbing partner.  We traded stories, laughs, and food.  I kept up my
tradition of not reaching the summit via the North Arete.  Angela and
Karen produced beautiful water color paintings of the area while Steve
and I were off attempting the climb.  We continually found humor in the
effectiveness of our "squirrel bagging" (no trees were tall enough to
bear bag).  Steve and I worked on fun boulder problems in the evening
after we returned safely to camp.

The summit used to be the "end all, be all" for me.  But a few years of
climbing and fine tuning of my philosophy has made me a different, and
hopefully better, alpinist.

The mountain will still be there next year.  And of course, so will I.

Which naturally begs the question, . . .

"Who out there would like to join me?"

 - o -

_____________

Matterhorn Peak, Hoover Wilderness, Toiyobe National Forest
Eastern Sierra Mountains
Sept 4-7, 1998

Climbers:  Steve Sosa, Mike Sarmiento
Beautiful-backpacking-toting-women:  Karen Schwartz, Angela Wemyss

You'd think I'd have a clue by now, but for the third year in a row,
I made a summit bid for Matterhorn Peak via the North Arete route (
III, 5.6).  Matterhorn Peak is located in the Sawtooth Ridge area
just south of Twin Lakes.  It is slightly north of Yosemite's
Tuolumne Meadows.   Unlike the western side of the Sierra Mountains,
the SR area has dramatic mountain formations similar to the Grand
Tetons in Wyoming.  Incredible scenery.  Classic route.

Because of the area's majestic beauty, it is also a popular
destination for day hikers and backpackers.  The forest service thus
instituted a quota system for all overnight visitors, limiting the
number of back country permits to 9 people per day.  I have learned
to use the quota system to my advantage and only go on trails that
utilize it.  It allows me to fart and snore in my tent and not bother
too many fellow hikers.  Even though it was a three day weekend, it
was unlikely that we'd run into a lot of people - lucky for them!

This year, I really screwed up my chances for success.  I applied for
a permit in March for the Labor Day three day weekend - knowing how
difficult it would be to guage the weather that far in advance.  I
hooked up with a climbing partner who was previously seriously
injured climbing the Matterhorn in Liederhosen at Disney Land.  I
planned the trip in early September instead of July to take advantage
of the rain.  And finally, I brought my running shoes (thought if all
else failed I could sprint up the face of the mountain).

The drive from San Francisco takes you over Ebbett's Pass via Hwy
108. It takes about 5 1/2 hours and the last 2 hours over the
mountain range makes it all worth while.  Angela, Karen and myself
left at 6:15am and arrived in Bridgeport at 12:30.  We weren't
scheduled to meet Steve, who was driving up from LA, until 1pm.

On Saturday, we started hiking from Twin Lakes (7,800 feet) at 3:32
pm and made camp at 10,200 feet just after 6:30.  Karen and Angela
did a wonderful job hiking (considering the moutaineering experience
that Steve and I had) and they kept pace with exceptional fervor.

At camp - we made dinner, helped ourselves to Steve's bottle of
prized Chianti, and planned Sunday's climbing day.

Fortunately, the weather didn't look cooperative Saturday evening. It
rained intermittently while we ate dinner, and the clouds didn't look
as if they would dissipate soon.  I didn't mind if it rained hard the
next day - I would have an excuse for not summiting, AGAIN!!!!  The
sky, and our climbing plans, were looking grim.

I slept as much as I could Saturday night, trying not to think about
my gorgeous girlfriend snuggled next to me in my sleeping bag.

At 6:30am Steve woke me with an announcement that it was cloudy and
it didn't look too good.  My heart rose but I got out of the tent and
thought I should look intent on climbing the mountain anyway.

"What do you think?" he asked me.

"I say we make the approach to the base anyway.  If the weather is
bad, we turn around.  If it's good, we climb."

Steve agreed.

It took us 2 1/2 hours to get to the base.  One problem was that I
brought my running shoes for the trip instead of my mountaineering
boots, thinking that at this point the weather would not have
permitted us to attempt the climb. I decided that I would follow
Steve's  foot steps (letting him do all the work).  I brought my ice
axe for the steep snow approach.  I had to self belay a few times to
give Steve the impression that I was working hard at keeping up with
him.

The weather looked clear, I was out of breath, and cursing my pot
bellied stomach full of cliff bars.  We donned our harnesses, racked
up, flaked the rope, and got ready to climb.

Steve led the first pitch, which took up 140 feet of his rope.  He
told me that if the climbing was easy, we would simul-climb through
the first and second pitches to save time.  (Normally, when one
climbs, there is a follower and a leader.  The follower belays the
leader in case of a fall. Some climbers "simul-climb" to save time,
whereby both the leader and follower climb at the same time and there
is no belayer.  The weight of the follower will stop the fall of the
leader, and the leader can stop the fall of the follower.
Communication is essential for this technique.THIS TECHNIQUE IS VERY
DANGEROUS - DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME KIDS).

When Steve had 25 feet of rope left,  I let him know that we were
running out of rope.  If he needed to set up belay anchors, he would
need to do it soon.

"Off belay," he yelled to me.  This meant that we wouldn't
simul-climbb after all - I was shitting my pants.

I followed and met him at the ledge where he set up the first belay
station.

"Hello!" I greeted him, my face pale from fright.  "There you are!"

He met me with a worried look on his face.  "You look like shit man!"

"What do you think of those clouds?" he asked me.

I turned around and looked to our south-east.

What I saw didn't look too bad, but I thought I should sound
convincing (use big words).

"Those look like high lenticulars," I replied.

"Yeah," he added, "It would be against my better judgement to continue."

"I agree.  Let's turn around."

"That's what I think too.  But I feel bad for you.  I know this is
yourthird attempt.  That's why I set up this belay and didn't
continue. I wanted to see how you felt about going on."

"Well, the mountain will always be here.  I'll just come back again
next year."

"Ok then.  You down climb and set pro.  I'll belay."

As I descended, it started to rain.  I got back to the base and Steve
started to down climb.  The weather cleared after we got off the
route.  I was happy we turned around when we did.

"Well," I told Steve as we descended, "If you come back from the
mountain alive, then you've made the right decision no matter what."

"Actually," Steve added, "You should come off the mountain in one
piece."

We came down in one piece.

For the third year in a row, my bad planning denied me the summit.
But the experience of being in the mountains was well worth dragging
Angela up there.

I shared a weekend with my fiancée, a good friend, and a new climbing
partner.  We traded stories, laughs, and food, not to mention Steve's
bottle of wine.

I kept up my tradition of not reaching the summit via the North
Arete.  Angela and Karen produced beautiful water color paintings of
the area while Steve and I were off attempting the climb.  We
continually found humor in the effectiveness of our "squirrel
bagging" (no trees were tall enough to bear bag).  Steve and I worked
on fun boulder problems in the evening after we returned safely to
camp.

The summit used to be the end all be all for me.  But after a few
years of climbing, 15 added pounds of weight, a half bottle of
chianti, and a treadless pair of sneakers, I would have been an idiot
to attempt a summit.

The mountain will still be there next year.  And of course, so will I.

Which naturally begs the question, . . .

"Who out there would be the fourth idiot to join me?"

 - o -

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