Travelling a Knife’s Edge: A Traverse of Yosemite’s Matthes Crest

I had never simul climbed before. I think I decided, long before I climbed Matthes Crest, possibly even before I had even heard of the route, that Matthes must be the place. The feeling held in frozen motion between the words of any mention of Yosemite or Tuolumne or the Sierra Nevada, whether I noticed it or not. And I think I figured, years ago, that this hot July day would be the time. 

Not so big and bad and biblical, Matthes crest is a patient venue for practicing such skills. It would be our day to learn, out in the backcountry where no one can see, high up on rock where I look like an insect. 

Before our ascent, a more experienced climber shared with us some basics: always keep three pieces between you. Double your rope over, and use a GriGri to control the slack. Don’t fall. 

The rope is still a lifeline, but now it is umbilical. The leader places the gear, the follower cleans the gear. Each must keep pace with the other. Simul Climbing commands balance and moderation. Partners communicate through gear placements more than they do by shouting. 

We would find ourselves learning to simul, in the process stitching the rope along Matthes’ half mile. It’s a long way to wind up and down and around shark tooth, bureaucratic rock. Pitching Matthes out, as a party might on a vertical wall, would take too much daylight. We wanted to move fast, at the same time realizing the nuanced plug-pull gait of Simul climbing. 

Topography

Matthes Crest rides high in the Cath edral Range. It is a serrated fin of alpine granite, cutting the wind, drafting birds above amphitheaters and scree piles. It’s bladed ridge is a creation of glaciers. A linear series rough rock fractals, rising and falling. This is the spine of Yosemite, itself nearby the backbone of the continent. 

The crest marks the boundary where two glaciers nearly met. Up here in the high country, the cold couldn’t break the barrier. These same glaciers sheared half dome, carved a monolithic El Capitan. Matthes withstood rivers of ice, saved perhaps by gravity or old happenings in old climates. The old mountain has been pinched to a thin feature, as wide as a single topographic contour line. Where the rock tapers off to blue sky, it is tenuous, perched longingly for the ground. But it will invite you, allowing you to travel to and fro. 

Climbers must move over cretaceous ground, rare paths where time has not weathered the granite to a Tuolomne sheen. From up here, you can see the story of the Sierras played out. Knobs and crystals stud the rock, and lichen crowds every fissure. Matthes Crest survived the ice age, and now saws north to south. Everything below has been carried off to valley and sea, but the crest runs eye level with neighboring spires of withering batholith. 

Every winter, the Sierra Nevada is vaulted away. It is forbidden to human visitors. Storms envelope and darken the region. These jagged peaks must be a sight amidst a solstice blizzard.

Yet in the summer, anywhere else a reliable season, Tuolumne is in flux. The snow is melting. Everything is melting, and thunderstorms flourish in afternoons. 

What is uncloaked has become a fan favorite among alpinists and soloists and yellow bellied marmots. You and them ride between two alpine valleys, straddling both at a time. There are lakes below you, and yet more domes and creeks. The eye tracks downstream, where well known valley monuments rise through the haze. Opposite, High Sierra Peaks recline stark, barren, and cold. This vantage point is powerful.

The Matthes traverse runs for half of a mile, though the true geographic body extends longer. Gaining the initial ridge might comprise the only fifth class moves, aided by generous cracks and chimneys. Beyond, the climbing eases to a fast mix of walking and scrambling. The Matthes Crest is a proper introduction to alpinism. Not at all committing for a beginner, and a moving meditation for experienced adventure seekers.

The Approach To Matthes Crest

Finding Matthes Crest should be easy. One of the most popular alpine rock climbs in the world, Matthes is probably second only to Cathedral Peak in number of ascents. It lies at the core of the Cathedral range, hidden from every passing motorist by towers, moraines, and summer snow fields.

A Tuolumne summer is crowded by Mosquitoes. Airborne parasites horde about any marsh or creek or frigid lake. There are clouds and clouds, too many in number for any sort of bug repellent. Hikers may only grin and bear and breathe it. Reaching Matthes, the Mosquitoes will have their take of your blood.  

We found the approach confusing. Guidebooks and internet comments weren’t quite descriptive enough, and we didn’t have a map. They say: Take the Cathedral Peak trail, peel off to Budd lake. From Budd, climb the southern ridge, staying close to Echo Peaks, and Matthes will come into view. Then, it’s cross country to the south end of the crest, where the climb begins.

We gave it a shot, best we could, though not quite sticking so close to the Echo Peaks. As we hiked above Budd Lake, we noticed a ridge on the horizon. It was the wrong ridge. Not Matthes, but an imposter. Excitedly, we started towards it, unknowingly leading us downhill, away from the true path to Matthes.

We discovered our error when the true ridge came into view. This one matched the picture in the guide book. It was unmistakable, and now we were way down in a valley, somewhere near the John Muir Trail. It would be more sweat and work to reach the start-some that could be easily avoided had we just paid better attention. At least the hike was pretty. 

My advice: hike high, and stay high. 

Simulclimbing 

Simulclimbing is said to be safer than soloing, but faster than inchworm pitching. Parties move in tandem, skewing the line between leader and follower. Both climbers belay each other. The risk is greater, and the safety of either climber relies more on the promise that neither will fall. 

To me, following felt like leading. If the follower pitches off, then so does the leader. There is just as much at stake. I took second on the initial ascent of the crest, chimneying and jamming the path chosen by my leader. I weighed more than my partner. If I fell, I would have surely pulled her off. I could not see here, and could only barely hear her. 

Gravity has a say, and up there the sun and wind and thunder conspire. A rope balances out the odds, allowing protection and retreat where possible. Most will climb with a rope, but it will be slow to pitch out the length of the crest. Simul Climbing would be the lynchpin of our success. 

Once we fell into the rhythm, simuling was easy. It allowed faster travel, as was promised. Building anchors took up the most time.

Soloing

Matthes is best traveled unroped, I believe. It is exposed and geometric, but no single move is difficult. Your path is a scramble around obelisks and off generous ledges. Climbers snake over, between, and around stone. Unhindered by a rope and anchors, movement along the crest is more joyful. Soloists move with easy leisure as they reach across chasms catlike and free. 

A rope gums things up. It adds another factor to the equation of Alpine travel. There are too many rocks and trees and fins on which to catch a tether. Dragging and weaving about grizzly granite, leaders may drag to make progress. Safety is a priority, the consequences are high, but many will find the risk of going ropeless to be scant. Matthes Crest might be used as a benchmark- If you’re good up here, you’re good anywhere. 

Soloing is a past time in Tuolumne’s Cathedral Range, as attested by a so called “Triple Crown”. By this challenge, Climbers top out on Tenaya Peak, move fast to cover Matthes, and conclude at Cathedral Peak’s summit block. In one day, climbers attempting the Triple Crown cover thousands of feet of climbing, and miles and miles of hiking, yet this link up is often spoken of as casually as an everyday bouldering circuit. 

We did not solo that day. We did not care to take on such risk. But if I am ever to travel Matthes again, and I am sure that I will, then I will solo it. Even if the climbing moved slower, the lessons learned and the skills practiced were plenty. We learned the ropes, as the saying goes. 

Off the Rock, Back to The Car

Admittedly, we never completed the entire traverse. There was still a tower, and plenty more downclimbing to do, but ten hours of hiking, rope drag, and dehydration had us tired out. As slow as we were going, it sometimes felt as if we weren’t making enough progress. Every summit and landmark looked to be the same. The summit view barely changed. Aside from our reddening sunburns, there were few metrics by which we could judge our progress. We both wanted off.

The notch between Matthes’ north and south summits is the lowest point on the whole traverse. It is negative space above a terraced retreat. From afar, it looks like a gap tooth. Judging by all the rappel anchors, this notch is the most popular place to descend. We chose this spot to end our traverse. 

Descending was easy. Two 30-ish meter rappels off squat pine trees got us to the bottom. Some parties might feel comfortable down climbing unroped, but we weren’t taking chances. Not in our minds, not today.

Officially off the traverse, it is then a sandy, sliding descent down a sunny slope. We aimed for a low ridge southwest of the Echo Peaks. Cresting this, we estimated, would put us back into the right valley. By locating Cathedral Peak (an easy task), and keeping it to our left, we could then find the trail, and hike back to our car. 

Our path was much more direct than the morning’s zig zagging, hill climbing approach. We crossed several creeks, pausing to cool our hot heads and tired hands. The ridge climbed over rumbling features, past snow fields and low growing pines. We passed from the Merced watershed to the Tuolumne, but the clouds of mosquitoes remained the same. 

Finding Cathedral Peak trail did not take much effort. Half running, half hiking, with cams and draws and empty nalgenes jingling all the way, we made it back to the car. I felt like a marathoning rock god, even while downing hot car heated water.

In my opinion, the best part of a big day climbing is not when you reach the peak. It’s not when you descend safely, or even a post climb food binge. For me, the best feeling comes when I take off my harness. I am ungirdled from the weight of the day. The burden is dropped, not to be shouldered again until I decide it so. 

I always figure a big climb to be my last. At the end of every long day, I swear that I will retire to a lifetime of snacking, napping, and Netflix. But it never turns out that way. I always find my way back into a harness, waking up way too early, and drinking far too little water. I’ve caught myself up in one more Karmic cycle. As the frequently misquoted John Muir once said: “The Mountains are Calling, and I’ve gotta go, man.”

Need Gear? 

Matthes Crest may be one of Yosemite’s quintessential Alpine routes, but getting there will involve miles of cross country hiking. It’s a whole day’s worth of the backcountry experience. As such, you’re gonna need the right gear for the job. Whether that’s shielding yourself from an errant summer thunderstorm, or scrambling to the start of the climb, we’ve been there. After many days and nights spent hiking and climbing throughout the park, we compiled this list of the Essential Hiking Gear Perfect For Any Trail.

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Timothy Carlson

Lead Editor and Content Contributor at Hike The Planet!

Timothy started Hike The Planet! as a Fun Way to Scratch His Creative Itch. Timothy is a Rock Climber, Thru Hiker, and Aspiring Trail Runner. He Has Lived and Traveled Throughout the Southwest, but Currently Makes His Home in Southern California.

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