Moby Dick was a struggle for me — its cracks are too wide for my fine ladies's hands.

Now I know what is meant by comments that El Capu is a polished rock.

On Wednesday, a climbing weekend with Pavel and Michal began to take shape. Michal, however, had to plan his Saturday return, but that made hime study even more intensely what all he would like to climb in one day, and for the subsequent three days he kept bombarding us with pictures and comments to his chosen routes. For my taste, his emails included too many instances of expressions like wide crack and difficult chimney, but my climbing deficit was stronger than my worries about Michal's hyperactivity.

On Thursday we all met at the climbing gym to work out details. I had a feeling of hunger pangs, but a snack did not help. On Friday my pains were so unpleasant that I self-diagnosed, with Vendula's assistance, an upset gall bladder, and being remotely navigated from her workplace, I eventually purchased some pills, which helped. I really pondered what to take along with me for the weekend to not be hungry and still did not end vomiting or otherwise complicating our climbs.

Even Michal looks to having hands in the crack all the way to his elbows. (Moby Dick)

In Ahab arms are not enough, you have to jam with your whole body.

Michal took us to Yosemite through Mariposa — on a map it looks like a longer drive, but it works out in time the same like going the crazy Hwy 120, perhaps because it goes mostly flat against the Merced River stream, and one does not have to cross hills and passes. Before midnight we were unfurling our sleeping bags at a parking lot near El Portal, in the middle of a whole heap of other cars and cocooned sleepers.

Michal went to look for Béla among the cocoons in the morning, to arrange his transport that evening; then we headed to the park, to the restrooms with warm water and benches at the river, where on can eat breakfast. We were quite surprised finding not even one car parking at the meadow under El Cap. Overall, during this weekend we ran into a minimum of climbers (which I don't mean as a complaint at all!).

Space under El Cap was free as well, and Michal urged us on Moby Dick. Boys were at ease, but I simply have small hands and tend to fall out of larger cracks. Somehow I made it up, but got zero points for my technique and artistic impression. I don't know if my gall bladder (or whatever it is) could be my excuse, but I held a bitter taste in my mouth for the whole day and I felt very sleepy — I simply wasn't myself, though the pangs had eased. The gents then hurried into Ahab — which I refused and was glad to do so — they both earned identically scraped backs.

First pitch of Salathe — the two small cracks from Pavel up.

Sacherer Cracker.

It was full under Sacherer Cracker — two brave boys who came under the rock with gear like for a big wall, we just beginning to spread out their stuff and it looked for a long time. On top of that they played roaring music, which is guaranteed to spoil my mood. Especially since I climb in this racket twice weekly in a gym, I want to have peace on my weekends (well, that's a senior citizen for you). Therefore we ran back almost to the Nose and improved our spirits on the first pitch of Salathe. It was the hardest route we climbed that day (5.10c), but because it's two NARROW cracks, I mastered it with a relative dignity. Only I wasn't able to take out one friend; boys tried to wiggle it out during our rappel, but failed as well. When Pavel hanged on the ropes, ANOTHER friend zipped by from above, cracked into the rock, and eventually slammed in bushes between me and the boys that were getting ready for the route. Quite unpleasant, that — we wear helmets in Yosemite, but I'm not sure if they would be any good against such a chunk of iron — not to mention hitting us in an arm or leg; it might smash them altogether.

El Capitan — 3x in a day.

For Sunday we planned climbing on Middle Cathedral.

Kor-Beck leads right into a corner, straight up above the climbers.

I shall probably not mention the attempt for Sacherer Cracker. Perhaps only that according to the guide I qualified as a 5.11 climber (for allegedly even some of them can't handle a start in a 5.7 chimney). Pavel later said that I haven't missed anything and that he did not like the route, but he probably just wanted to console me.

In the evening we moved to Five and Dime, were absolute overcrowding prevailed — apparently all those climbers, who were NOT under El Cap, had gathered here. Then the hour came when Michal was to be handed over to Béla on a parking lot under Pat and Jack Pinnacle. We splashed in Merced River, met Linda, and discovered that we won't be likely eating in El Portal. Michal said that stopping to shop at a store would be simplest, which proved positive. Besides sandwiches they sold us excellent soup, and dining on a small terrace under sunshades, with a view to the river and waterfalls, was good. Beer was our only problem — they would have and sell it at the store, but they're forbidden to serve it any fashion — they loaned us an opener only after we swore that we would open and drink our bottles at least across the road.

We invited us into Linda's company, who claimed the best corner of the parking lot. I would like to mention that I find it truly idiotic to look for your friends by going around the sleeping cocoons and shining light into their faces — it must be the tax for sleeping in a popular spot. Personally, I would have preferred the meadow on Hwy 120, but El Portal is much closer the Yosemite Valley proper, and after all, a narrow valley with a river does not offer as many opportunities as wide hills and woods.

Huffing on Kor-Beck.

A few last yards to go at the end of Kor-Beck.

In the morning we repeated the same exhumation process like we did before with Michal — I ran into Linda at the warm water tap in the bathroom — everybody moving on the same loop. Two cars were already parked under Middle Cathedral, but Pavel claimed that one belonged to boys climbing Higher Cathedral, thus one of the two routes we picked on Middle would surely be available. While he packed ropes and all irons, I stuffed my small bag with snacks and personal things. Perhaps I was still half absent-minded (due to my gall bladder, I had to skip my morning coffee, which means I was for all practical purposes unusable), for without Pavel pointing it out, I would have not packed my climbing shoes.

On couple was getting ready under Central Pillar of Frenzy, so we continued under Kor-Beck. Six pitches, six hundred feet. We did the first pitch through a variant for 5.10a, and I quite liked it. Second pitch was similarly nice, the third probably too, but by then my feet started swelling from heat. I took my shoes off on the standu, which helped a bit, and so did my keeping in the shade of a small twisted tree. A rather interesting step from a crack out onto the wall came in the fifth pitch, together with a bit of wall climbing. Last pitch, however, consisted of randomly scattered flakes — some could be climbed in a crack, some in a chimney, some with an hourglass — and I was truly physically out of it, so I alternatively hanged there and cursed; how I scrambled to the top in the end, I don't know. Still the route was very nice, attractive for me even with beautiful bolts in the stands; somehow I tend to trust screws in rock more that mere friends.

There are sporting routes in Yosemite as well! (Boneheads 5.10b)

Boneheads has a hard bouldering start and easy top.

I could not force myself to don my climbing shoes for rappeling, and I must say, granite looks a lot smoother than it really is, and before I finished marching down those six hundred feet, my soles hurt a lot. Once down, Pavel shyly proposed Central Pillar, but rational thought was on my side — it was afternoon already and the question lingered whether we could jam five pitches of climbing (and subsequent abseiling) into the remaining daylight; also, both of us had drunk almost all of our water in the heat; the last point being that I'm simply a wimp and I hurt all over (but mostly feet). Eventually we agreed to try climbing something on Pat and Jack Pinnacle, which is on the way out of the Valley.

It was a good idea and it was mine — after Pavel led Boneheads (5.10b), in the end I was glad to follow. I figured out the bouldering start differently than he did; from the third bolt it was walking — but also my swan song — I was really glad that I did not HAVE to climb any more. Pavel kept climbing Babble On (a crack), which I turned down.

A bath in the river remained (to which I looked forward for several hours), discovery that they sold out the soup at the store (they gave me a half-cup, scraped from the bottom of the pot, for free), phoning home — and then just a drive across Central Valley, bugs plopping on the windshield in a rhythm of a summer rain.