"The days of rest are over, finally it's about to start." Alex Huber's memorable words reverberating in my ears, I'm placidly cruising high above the arid planes and dried-out arroyos of the entire Southwest, from West Texas to California. Sleep loss from the previous days of packing prevents me from being too preoccupied with the question marks of our ambitious month-long climbing odyssey, yet they are never too far in the back of my mind: Will everybody be where they should be on time? Will Enrique's elderly Mexican car withstand the abuse of overloading and the hundreds of miles of driving? How will our bodies cope with days and weeks of climbing without much recuperation? Above all, will our meager budget (under a grand per person for me and Brezó) see us through a month of nomadic life that inescapably involves a costly car rental at some point? Valid as these worries might be, excitement and American optimism intoxicate my mind as we lose altitude over the endless urban sprawl of the LA area. And it all starts remarkably smooth: on a five-hour drive up from Baja California, Enrique is just late enough not to refute the popular stereotype about his people, and as soon as we get together it's just like old days. Despite the sabotage attempts of Sally (our GPS by courtesy of Dóri), we finally locate a Walmart and take care of groceries, including a few items that we will not once use in the next four weeks. Brezó's flight is scheduled unbearably late (10 pm), but the residents of an airport neighborhood are kind enough to ignore us as we take a short nap in the car at sunset. Brezó arrives at last and suddenly fills the car with his 140 liter haulbag and limited but eager English as we finally leave the metropolis behind. We are all so excited at getting together and embarking on our adventure that none of us notices the countless state parks north of LA that are inviting us to spend the night. Instead, we drive past Bakersfield, and by the time we are about to run out of steam, there is not a single rest area where we could rest a few hours. Eventually Enrique gives me the wheel and I drowsily navigate on the curvy mountain roads all the way to Wawona, the Southern gateway to Yosemite NP. This sets a dangerous precedent that sends us on many other sketchy night cruises over the month. Unable and unwilling to drive into the Valley, we park in the hotel's parking lot and close our eyes for two short hours, my down bag finally delivering me from the shivering cold of Enrique's heatless Thunderbird.
Afraid of being caught, at six we are moving again, turning downhill after a 6000-foot pass and carefully passing a crazy coyote that wants to play safety car for us, running in front of our fender. The outer stretches of the Valley only mildly engage our fatigued minds, but then we cross the tunnel and the view on the other side pops our eyes open: Tunnelview Point offers us the unmistakable scenery that we see for the first time, yet which hundreds of still and moving images have already burnt into our memories as indelibly as the outlines of the Eiffel Tower or the pyramids of Giza. This is the place that we have been dreaming about, now we are to enter one of Nature's most sublime sanctuaries and of course the
sanctum sanctorum of rock climbing. (Quite appropriately, although we stopped to take pictures here, they must be hiding somewhere in the circuits of our cameras and I have nothing of this first glimpse to post here except my own graphic descriptions.) In the crisp morning light, we instantly recognized the towering form of El Cap with the Nose and the distant mass of Half Dome at the back of the Valley. We couldn't call the Cathedral Rocks or Leaning Tower by their proper names yet, but they framed the perfect ice-chiseled geometry of the Valley nonetheless for us. Getting back into the car finally, we first dived into thick forests, only to emerge a few hundred feet from the looming rockface of El Capitan himself, raving frantically at the sight. In the next few weeks I was lucky enough to drive or walk by this landmark several times and it not once failed to impress me with its sheer size and poetry of space, yet the magnetism that captures you when you first approach it is definitely a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
 |
| Smile has frozen to our exhausted faces under Yosemite Falls |
After a bit of route finding, Camp 4 welcomes us with its coziness, we are home at last. The arduous standing in line in front of the ranger's booth to check in is no trouble this first time, we are looking forward to breakfast and a nap in the rising sun. Just as Brezó prepares to leave a note to his boss, our own Tamás "The Machine" Kovács, he shows up and introduces us to camp life as well as to his current climbing partner, Barry from South Africa/Australia. The friendly and laid-back atmosphere of Camp 4 makes you feel you've been here before, probably several times. The big boulder, the restrooms, the bearboxes are wonted fixtures of your environment in half an hour, and you get to know half of the cheerful international crowd in half that time. It's past noon by the time we turn in to get some rest, but we are up again in two hours. This is our first day in Yosemite, we cannot let it pass without touching rock.
 |
| Swan Slab bathing in the sun |
Five minutes from the camp, Swan Slab is our destination with its seemingly gentle slopes and moderate cracks. The first 5.6 dihedral is not too sobering yet: we can do this, even sleep-deprived and out of practice. But then comes the "black soup" (i.e., coffee), as the Hungarian saying says, as I jump on what turns out to be a 5.7 lieback/handcrack. Almost virgin to granite and not very experienced in trad climbing, I'm terrified to note the absence of faceholds and cautiously move up the steep, smooth surface. On a toprope, Enrique and Brezó are not as shocked by the new kind of climbing as I am, but they notice the difference all right. We might have to reconsider our plans a bit as far as route difficulty goes. The next target is a 5.9 handcrack, where I reluctantly give in to handjamming but don't feel that much more secure. Not knowing what comes up next, I stop and place gear practically every 2-3 feet, ultimately embellishing the crack to a degree which makes climbers passing by stop and smile. With less than four hours of sleep and the reality check of Yosemite crack climbing, I don't really mind and am happy enough to toprope with Brezó the two slabby 5.10s directly under the anchor (Enrique has been chased back to camp by the mosquitoes by this time). Exhilarating and sobering first day in Yosemite . . .
 |
| Easy 5.6 dihedral |
 |
| Sobering 5.7 lieback/handcrack |
 |
| Intro to 5.9 Yosemite crackclimbing (but good pro :-)) |
Finishing climbing always too late and eager to have our fill of camp life, we immediately fell into a routine of turning in and getting up way too late, which typically translated to no climbing until noon the following day. On Day 2, we set our eyes on Five Open Books, a nearby crag consisting of a set of east-facing dihedrals, which was rumored to be merciful with newbies to Yosemite granite. Our Barry of the Pirate Hat, to whom we soon and unanimously took a liking, joined us for these explorations, leading the way on the easy approach to
Munginella, a 3-pitch 4-star classic for 5.6, which defied its name with perfectly clean and solid rock. The climbing here posed no difficulty even for us, Barry and Enrique sped up making the route in two pitches with their 60m rope. Brezó and I almost managed to do the same, except for anchoring too low for the first time (we were waiting for our comrades who, in turn, were waiting for other people) and consequently accumulating horrible rope drag on the second pitch, which eventually forced me to set up an intermediate belay at a lousy spot. Hurrying down to get some more climbing in in the midst of lengthening shadows, the idyllic grassy ledges finally took us to the biggest horror of the whole crag, a few exposed feet of downclimbing on slick granite abundantly washed by a small stream. We did it this time, but at the day's end Brezó and I opted for rapping right into the small waterfall, even at the cost of getting the rope wet and dirty (Barry and Enrique downclimbed for a second time, barefoot, hobbit-style).
 |
| View from the base to Half Dome and Royal Arches |
 |
| Jack Sparrow (a.k.a. Barry) takes the lead |
 |
| One of the Five Open Books (Munginella, Pitch 2) |
The step up from the relaxed climbing of
Munginella for us was another 4-star classic of the area, the three-pitch fun of
Commitment for 5.9. Instead of the regular 5.8 lieback start, we opted for the beautiful 5.8 splitter crack a few feet to the right. After watching Barry's confident lead with minimal gear, I was ready to enjoy a moderate cruise up the first pitch, soon finding myself instead in scarily unfamiliar and unstable positions with painfully jammed hands and feet interspersed with balancy lieback sections. For once, I was happy to carry Brezó's enormous rack, which many more experienced trad leaders would have considered ridiculous overkill for this route. The 5.7 lieback of the second pitch was just spicy enough to keep us on our toes, until we ran into the crux 5.9 lieback roof at the beginning of Pitch 3. Although the moves were arguably some of the hardest we were to do in the Valley on this trip, the two solid pieces I placed in the roof successfully took my mind off the issue of falling and let me enjoy the rest of this splendid route.
 |
| 5.8 splitter (Commitment, Pitch 1) |
 |
| A great enough roof for us (the crux on Commitment, Pitch 3) |
 |
| Yet another 5.9 roof on Pitch 3 |
By our third day, we more or less felt ready for something harder or longer, as long as protection was plenty and easy to place (the latter was more my concern than Enrique's or Brezó's, who didn't entertain ambitions for leading at this point). It also seemed to be our lucky day, as Tamás "The Machine" kindly invited us to climb (i.e., toprope) with him at Cookie Cliff, which clearly anticipated routes a bit (a few bits?) above our level for leading. On the way down to Cookie Cliff, Barry was struck by the funny idea of jumping on
Generator Crack on toprope, "since there is not a line waiting for it this time." When Tamás shared with us the little secret that leading it was enough climbing for a day even for him, we instantly saw our destiny in the huge and inviting 5.10c offwidth. Keeping on his leather hiking boots, Barry tied into the toprope first, making a valiant effort until his first fall. Not too saddened by the loss of the onsight, he stubbornly kept struggling and falling, finally making it into the wider chimney part and eventually to the top. Tamás, a veteran to this beast, came next and demonstrated proper offwidth technique, investing quite a bit of his limitless energies into a speedy ascent. Enrique, in turn, decided to stick to his proven strategy for hard routes: not wasting time for thinking and figuring out technique, applying, rather, as much brute force and enthusiasm as he could muster in a headlong suicide attempt. It took him up quite a way, though, if not past the crux. Brezó, the wise philosopher, was able to judge even from the ground the minimal chance of success and the potential bodily damage that this indifferent split in the rock would probably inflict upon him, therefore he refrained from futile efforts and gave up gracefully when difficulties started to mount. As for me, who foolishly entertained dreams of an onsight toprope ascent, I bared my teeth and fiercely fought to death, messing up my left arm and shoulder and finally being forced to give up by the massive bloodstream from my left ankle (and perhaps pain and exhaustion). And so befell our first encounter and epic siege of
Generator Crack.
 |
| Generator Crack, 5.10c ow |
 |
| Barry resorting to the famous Australian koala-style |
 |
| "When does it end?" |
 |
| The right way to do it |
 |
| Even the master needs some rest sometimes |
Thoroughly humiliated, we followed Tamás and Barry over to Cookie Cliff, where they promised to set up some tough topropes for us. Barry had in mind another five-star Yosemite gem, the first pitch of
Outer Limits, which is rated 5.11a in the current guidebook, but he assured us that it was easier than that and used to be rated perhaps 5.10c/d. He nevertheless complemented his own modest rack with a couple of our cams to protect this 35m steep handcrack and glided up the first dozen feet or so. Although a sizable whipper about one third up broke his momentum somewhat, he finished the route in good style and it was time for us to climb hard. I undertook cleaning, some of which I soon postponed to the way down, realizing that moving through the crux sections would demand all my concentration. With only thin footholds helping on the face occasionally, this route offered a rather strict lesson in crackclimbing, the pumpy hand- and footjams guaranteeing pain as a faithful companion all the way up. I remember being happy to be on a toprope more than once during the climb, yet I no sooner reached the anchor than the desire for a future lead ascent nestled in my mind. Eagerly awaiting their turn, Enrique and Brezó both gave the climb their best shots and eventually got past the low crux, only to get stuck higher up where the options narrowed down to painful hand- and footjams--something that they were not too keen on. While sitting around at the crowded crag, we had the good fortune to witness not only Tamás and some other guys leading
Crack A-Go-Go (5 stars, 5.11c)
, "maybe the most classic fingertip crag in Yosemite" according to the guidebook, but also some French dudes tackling
Cookie Monster (5.12a), allegedly the most popular bolted sportclimb in the Valley. Daylight fast waining over the canyon of the Merced river, I wanted to take advantage of the toprope on
Crack A-Go-Go and jumped on it determined. At the low crux fingertip section I messed up the sequence and got rewarded by a huge pendulum. The anchor was so far out to the left that it was a smallish miracle that I could get back to the parallel cracks and continue. Being a sustained 5.11c, the climbing just wouldn't ease up, and I was just holding on desperately to avoid another fall--every vertical feet decreased the length of the pendulum. Move after move, I was surprised that the game was still on, until I finally reached the easier 5.10 liebacks close to the anchor (still hard enough when this pumped) and I realized that I would get it. My euphoria at the anchor was unspeakable: on the one hand, I was awed by the endurance and experience of Tamás and all those who can lead this thing, but on the other hand I saw now a glimmer of hope that some day I might be able to do the same. Or was it just the last glimmer of the setting sun disappearing beyond the granite bastions of the Valley?
 |
| Barry leading Outer Limits (5.10c/5.11a?) for us |
 |
| French dude on Cookie Monster (5.12a) |
 |
| The duel |
 |
| Cleaning |
 |
| Tamás is being hardcore on Crack A-Go-Go (5.11c) |
Attempting no more than two routes (three in my case), the outing with Tamás and Barry sufficiently appeased our lust for adventure, but since the day after seemed to be our last climbing day in Yosemite for a while, Brezó and I were anxious to get some more multi-pitch climbing in before we leave. (All the forecasts showed bad weather rolling in that night, which was to last a couple of days, so we decided to drive down to Joshua Tree near LA and meet István, the fourth musketeer there.) Enrique claimed to be too sore to climb and wisely wanted to use his last day in the Valley to take pictures of everything, so he dropped the two of us off at
Reed's Pinnacle, whose
Regular Route (5.9, 4 pitches, 4 stars) we coveted. The strong wind and dark clouds gathering already signaled the change in weather, so we put on our speed climbing shoes and up I rushed on the first pitch of chimneys, dihedrals, and flakes. Then the first belay literally made my jaw drop: what I expected to be a nice convenient ledge on the basis of the topo turned out to be the top of a giant flake that I previously climbed on, separated by a 2-foot wide, 30-foot deep abyss from the main wall. Setting up an anchor in the single crack beyond the abyss was anything but quick or pleasant, no wonder that the party ahead of us simply established an intermediate anchor down lower and simply climbed through this section as part of pitch 2. (As I belay Brezó, they are already rapping down across our line, having finished the other two pitches--a disheartening difference in efficiency.) The second pitch shot up with awesome and demanding 5.8 stemming and liebacking, which soon made me forget about the advantage of all the Colorado people around us. We ended up on a large ledge, at the west end of which the mysterious 5.8 tunnel crossing of pitch 3 awaited us. On a closer look, it turned out to be a literal cave between the pinnacle proper and the main wall, which you had to traverse using chimney technique, ideally ignoring the 30+ foot drop under you. Just by looking at it, Brezó already knew that this project was not included in his concept of rock climbing and expressed his wish to turn back from here. I was tempted by the weird challenge, and after gathering all the possible beta from a descending party (there really wasn't much to say), I entered the narrowing Death Chimney. Two pieces at the beginning and a piton further on put my mind at ease to the degree that I could actually start enjoying the movements. Memories from my old caving days rushed right back to aid me through the tight part, where my big head wouldn't fit through without removing my helmet. In the end, the Death Chimney turned out to be almost a joke, even in the reverse direction (from tight to wider), which I also got to do after failing to convince Brezó to follow me. But the biggest surprise of the day was yet to come as I touched solid ground again on the large ledge. Understanding our predicament, a guy who named himself Zac offered us to set up a toprope on the variant that went up east of Brezó's uncrossable tunnel. It took me a while to realize that Zac had no partner with him and consequently no gear on him either, save his climbing shoes and the shirt and jeans he was wearing. Just out for a laid-back free solo session on his
hausberg, he said he would not do this variant without a rope, but if we gave him a belay and some gear, he wouldn't mind the 5.5 runout chimney and the intimidating 5.10a offwidth that it narrows down to. Grabbing only three cams and perhaps four quickdraws and declining our offer of a harness (rope coiled around his waist old-school style), he was confidently leading this last pitch of the
Direct Route, much to the wonderment and consternation of even the savvy Colorado crowd. In a matter of less than eight minutes he successfully completed the offwidth mission, and by the time I tied into the toprope, he was on the ledge with us once again, having downclimbed the 5.9 cracks on the other side and crossed the Death Chimney free solo of course. After declaring our respect and gratitude, we set out to take our second lesson in Yosemite offwidth climbing, which went only slightly less miserable than yesterday's affair with
Generator Crack. Transferring from the narrowing chimney into the offwidth flare definitely kicked our ass and forced us to hang into the rope, yet after much struggle we were proudly and exhaustedly standing atop
Reed's Pinnacle. (Foolishly, I even made Brezó lower me for a second round, believing that practice and suffering would pay off some day.) And thus ended our first enchanting but less than glorious stay in the Valley.
 |
| The outside of the giant flake on Pitch 1 |
 |
| Death Chimney (5.8) |
 |
| Zac atop Reed's, after tackling a 5.10a offwidth without a harness |
 |
| Brezó and the chimney |
 |
| Brezó in his second offwidth ever |
Shadows are growing denser in the woods of the valley floor as we drive out through Wawona after a final hot shower in Curry Village. Once again we ignore some ideal spots for sleeping and drive out to the plains of Central California, which are, of course, completely devoid of parks. Around midnight we stop to spend the night in the open fields by a dirt road near Bakersfield. A storm and a truck speeding by enlivens our short night, and at six we are on the road again, like fugitives. It is not until we meet one of the Colorado guys down in Joshua Tree that we learn that it had actually snowed a couple of inches in the Valley that night.
TO BE CONTINUED
