bpope’s blog

Background reading: YDS grading (see 3rd and 4th class)
For future climbers: check out the galleries or flickr set for images of maps and pictures with our route drawn in.

After successfully making it up both Mt. Whitney and Mt. Shasta, I turned my sights towards another of California’s 14ers. I bought Porcella and Burns’ “Climbing California’s Fourteeners” and pored over it, trying to identify a mountain and route that would be both doable and exciting. Immediately Mt. Williamson and Mt. Tyndall looked really fun, but they are closed for most of the year (big horn sheep). The next thing that caught my eye was Thunderbolt Peak, specifically its 5.8+ summit block. A close second was Middle Pal, which looked like a great hike over varied terrain, with awesome alpine lakes along the way. I couldn’t decide, but the Inyo National Forest quota system decided for me…no reservable permits for Thunderbolt, but plenty of space on the way to Middle Pal.

Sweet. All that was left was actually figuring out where to camp and which trail to hike, right? After picking up our wilderness permit via “nightbox” service at the White Mountain Ranger Station, Kurt and I stayed at Sage Flat Campground, just west of Big Pine, on Friday night, rolling in at about 1:30am. We slept in until about 9 before driving just a little further up the road to the parking lot labeled “Trailhead Parking.” It occurred to me then that I really didn’t know much about the trail we were supposed to take, except that it was called the South fork of Big Pine Creek. I also knew we were taking the “East Face” route detailed by Porcella and Burns. Critical missing piece of information: where did it all start?

Just past the latrine at the parking lot, though, was this helpful sign. TRAIL it proclaimed. Well, that had to be right, we figured. So we locked up the trusty PT Cruiser and set off optimistically into the already hot morning. I knew somewhere in the back of my head that we were looking for a sign that pointed out the split between the North Fork and South Fork trail. So, pretty soon, Kurt and I were excited to find the sign for the North Fork. But where was the South Fork to be found? It seemed we weren’t even on the map yet, so it turned out to be pretty useless. We decided to follow the creek because the other option turned into a road. After another 20 minutes, we figured the trail we were on was just a fishermen’s use trail. So, we about faced, and decided to try our luck along the road, which turned out to head exactly where we wanted to. Another 10 minutes brought us to the sign we were looking for, and we were finally off in the right direction. Great start to the trip: wandering unsure of our direction for an hour. And we were supposed to eventually go cross-country? Uh-oh…

Google Earth image of our route. Day 1 in green, Day 2 in red

Lesson for future hikers: if you can, just start from the Glacier Lodge, it makes everything super easy. Drop your packs there, bring the car back to “Trailhead Parking,” and walk back along the road. If you decide to start on the trail from the Trailhead Parking lot you’re already on the North Fork trail. You’ll want to hang a left when you see a campsite/picnic area on your left about 15-20 minutes after leaving the parking lot. Cross the bridge just past the picnic area and follow the trail as it angles left off of the road. This will eventually bring you to where the North and South Fork trails diverge. There’ll be a sign there that looks something like this:

The split of the North Fork and South Fork trails.

The hiking was nice and easy for the first hour or two on the South Fork. We stopped at the wilderness boundary for lunch, as our stomachs were rumbling and it was just before the uphill began ernest. There, we were passed some by trailhead-bound backpackers who had originally set their sights on Mt Sill but turned around. “It’s a f***ing long hike!” they exclaimed, obviously happy to be heading downhill. Fortunately, our approach was a bit shorter than theirs, and we were optimistic as we got back to hiking. The trail was very clear and straightforward, with the only annoyance being the seeming cloud of mosquitoes that descended upon as as we moved past Willow Lake — definitely put on bug spray if the area is at all wet!

Despite being a bit bothered by the altitude, Kurt kept up fine and pretty soon we were at Brainerd Lake. I saw a few cairns, and so we followed these for a bit until they petered out. Instead, we headed up the boulder field and found ourselves at Finger Lake not too long afterwards. For those seeking an easier time, or if you don’t like boulders, there is a reasonably well-used trail all the way from Brainerd Lake to Finger Lake. Personally, I thought the boulders were fun, and good warm-up for the following day. Kurt might disagree with me. Tip: there is a use trail, lightly marked by cairns, which we found on the way down. If you can find this your way will be a little bit easier and minimize the distribution of impact.

Kurt coming up the boulder field, with Willow Lake in the background.

We made camp at the north end of Finger Lake, where there are a few great camping areas. There, we ran into Brian, who also had his sights set on Middle Pal. He was planning on going up the “Northeast Face” route detailed in Secor’s guide, and also helpfully illustrated by several trip reports on SummitPost. The route description sounded really similar to ours, except for one critical difference: the start. Porcella and Burns instructs you to go to the far right (west) of the Middle Palisade Glacier. This is wrong. Begin by going up the morraine in the center of the glacier and you’ll be fine. Since Brian was alone, and seemed to know what he was doing, the three of us decided to team up for the trip to the summit.

While we planned on getting up at 6 to make a solid attempt at the summit, Kurt and I both knew that if we wanted to make it back home at a reasonable hour, we didn’t have much of a shot at the summit. No matter, we figured if nothing else, we’d make it to the glacier and then turn around; no reason to waste a beautiful day of hiking in the Sierra. We started up the slabs across the lake (to the west) in the early morning light. We definitely didn’t take the easiest route up (probably 4th class), but it was fairly direct and it managed to let us gain a substantial amount of time on the pair that had left camp about half an hour ahead of us. We saw them take a turn to the right and head for the western-most side of the Middle Pal Glacier (where a large wall separates it from the Norman Clyde Glacier). The day before, we had spoken with them and they had planned on doing the same route we were headed for. Either they were headed for something else, or they messed up their route-finding. In any case, after we had headed in the right direction, we saw them begin their descent.

We finally were ready to turn onto snow (the eastern portion of the Middle Palisade Glacier) at about 10:00. Kurt thought we should turn around.  Brian (who turned out to be a great trip-partner) was psyched about continuing, and I wanted to go, too.  I asked for another 30 minutes. “I only want to touch the start,” I said, knowing full-well what happens if you give a mouse a cookie. Soon we found ourselves at the base of an unlikely set of ledges. “What if we turn around at 11:30 instead?” I proposed. Kurt was pretty excited to try to reach the summit by now, too (as I had hoped) so before he could change his mind I launched up the 4th class ledge and was around the corner, looking up Secor’s chute. From here on it was sustained, exposed 3rd class climbing. Some of the rock was rotten, and much of it was loose, but careful hand and foot placements meant that I wasn’t raining rocks down upon my followers. I was in heaven. Even when it got windy near the top, I felt great: exhilarated but also completely in control of my head. If only I could feel this way every time I climbed!

This is sorta what it looked like going up.

We topped out just before our “final turnaround” time of 11:30. The ridge was absolutely incredible. Nothing in front or behind you, except for thousands of feet of air. A knife-edge ridge stretching to left and right. Sun shining. Slight breeze blowing. Just awesome. It is in moments like that in which every negative thought on the way up vanishes. It is memories of that moment that make every sore muscle and blister after the trip seem not so bad at all. That is what keeps me coming back.

As we relaxed and munched on dried mango (protip: always go with Philippine brand) Brian pointed out that had he been leading up the mountain, his self preservation instincts would have turned him around long ago. Fortunately I have repressed most of those instincts. That led to a short discussion of what our mothers would think…I think mine has given up worrying too much, and would be happy to see me happy. Or, at least, she doesn’t let me know she worries too much. Of the three of us, my mom is definitely the most okay with my trips to mountaintops

And down we go...

Now just for the trip down. Always a little trickier than the way up, as the adrenaline ebbs and you’re forced to face the thousand foot drop in front of you. Again, I was just having an awesome time. Kurt and Brian exhaled deeply as we finally made it back to the glacier. There we also saw another pair of climbers’ footprints (and trekking pole imprints). They had, apparently, turned around at the sight of the 4th class climbing. Either that, or they wanted to get home at a reasonable hour. So, out of the three parties attempting Middle Pal that day, we were the only succesful ones.

Heading down the Middle Pal Glacier. You should be able to pick out Kurt and Brian in the larger version.

In any case, Kurt didn’t rest easy for long though, the adventure wasn’t over. I took a few steps on the snow and promptly fell through, fortunately catching myself with my elbows. As my feet dangled over the bergschrund, I dragged myself onto the snow’s surface and rolled a little ways. Silly of me, I thought to myself: the snow had been softened by the warming rock. And if Kurt wasn’t scared of the snowy glacier before, he was now. Other than that, the rest of the trip back was largely uneventful, even if it felt long. Back at Finger Lake, we rested for a little bit, packed up camp, and headed back to the trailhead. Long hours in the car later (Kurt is a champ at long-distance driving), we pulled into Cupertino at about 2:30 in the morning. “See you at work in a few hours,” we said as we parted.

Quick nap back at camp before the rest of the trip to the trailhead.

As always, check out the galleries or the flickr set for more, and higher quality, pictures.

Background information: Mt Shasta (14,179′) is near the southern end of the Cascade Range. For more info on the route and the mountain, check out the SummitPost page.

I had been looking to climb Mt. Shasta since I drove from Seattle to San Francisco via I-5 last summer. For miles and miles, Shasta stood alone and magnificent in the distance, an adventure waiting to happen. So this year, after climbing Whitney, I got a group of friends together to make the attempt. Knowing that this year’s snow conditions were good late into the season, we picked a date in mid-July that worked for everyone.

Since most of the group was 100% new to snow travel (i.e. crampons and ice axes), we settled on the most traveled route up to the summit: Avalanche Gulch. Given the difficulty with altitude that we had on Whitney, we decided to spend our first night at the trailhead and second night at Lake Helen (elev. 10,400′ in order to aid in acclimatization. So, on Friday after work the seven of us piled into two cars and started driving for the Bunny Flat Trailhead. We arrived at Bunny Flat at about 11pm, got out of the car and looked up to a clear sky glistening with stars and lit by the milky way. Awesome start to the trip. We stumbled through the dark a little bit to find a campsite across the street from the trailhead, and promptly called it a night.

Group shot at the Bunny Flat trailhead

We got up about 7ish (it’s amazing how easy it is to wake up when you’re camping!) so that most of the crew could go rent crampons/axes. One car of 4 went to get the 6 sets necessary (I was lucky to still have my set from the Stanford Alpine Club). An hour and a half later they got back with two sets of bad news: 1) the cheaper place that we had called earlier in the week that had promised to be in stock had sold out and 2) the place they ended up renting from (The Fifth Season) required that you have super, super stiff boots or they wouldn’t rent crampons without renting boots too. Oh, and you had to be there in person. So, the two who hadn’t gone to rent the gear got back in the car and headed back to town.

Fortunately, the time waiting at the trailhead was nice…it allowed me to take my time packing up and talk to some folks at the trailhead, which was very relaxing. By 11, we were finally on the trail, which put us at Horse Camp (elevation about 7950′) about lunchtime. Horse Camp is a cabin maintained by the Sierra Club Foundation, and is the last stop for potable water.

The thing about Shasta via Avalanche Gulch is not that it’s a particularly long hike in horizontal distance, but you go up a long way in that not so-long distance: over 6000 vertical feet. We had planned to camp the night at Lake Helen, a morraine at about 10,400. The trail winds up rocky terrain to 50/50 Flat, about halfway from Horse Camp to Lake Helen. There, we found some rocky shelters built to protect tents from the wind and lots and lots of pumice. Pumice is one of the coolest rocks there is, in my opinion, and makes you look wicked strong if you take pictures holding big hunks of pumice and don’t tell anyone what it is.

Ethan holding, um...not pumice.

We ran into snow after 50/50, and followed it around to the left of the Lake Helen moraine, which is much shorter than skirting the moraine to the right. Plus, going up the snow route let the group get comfortable traveling on the white stuff in preparation for the next day. We got to Lake Helen by about 5:00 pm which gave us plenty of time to play cards, make dinner, melt snow for water, and enjoy the sunset. We all went to sleep as early as our bodies allowed (unfortunately mine didn’t want to rest until 11 pm) because we were shooting for a 3:00 am start (yeah alpine start!).

Looking up at our route...up the snowfield, bearing to the right of Heart (looks like Argentine) and through a small snow chimney.

As we awoke, and stumbled out of our tents, it was surprisingly warm! I hiked in pants, but with the zippers open for most of the legs, and an R1 over a light shirt. The snow crackled under my crampons, and I took the opportunity to practice some skills: setting a solid measured pace, taking small steps, and front pointing were all on my mind. On Whitney, I had taken the ‘take a bunch of really powerful steps and then rest’ mentality. This time around, I altered my mindset to be a bit more conservative. I felt way faster and more efficient, too. With our headlamps off, we could make out the rock outcropping known as ‘heart’ (I thought it looked more like Argentina though) that we were aiming to the right of, and the chimney through the Red Banks. Looking behind as the sun rose, Shasta cast a perfect triangular shadow over the mist in the valley. Simply awesome. 5:30 am, at 12,000 feet, watching the sunrise and I couldn’t have been happier anywhere in the world. Just think, I could’ve been asleep at home…what a waste that would’ve been!

Mt. Shasta's shadow from the rising sun.

For most people, the trip from Horse Camp to Lake Helen takes about the same amount of time as from Lake Helen to the summit. For our group, that held about true, too. We thought we were way ahead of schedule, but the Red Banks, which looked steep but short, ended up being steep and long! By the time we emerged at the base of Misery Hill (which was actually quite pleasant, I thought), a few of our group were having a bit of trouble with the altitude. From then on, I paid even more attention to small, measured steps, and fell into a rhythm. Step, step, inhale, step, step, exhale…repeat. The vertical feet slipped by, and I barely noticed the effort. I felt great!

Pretty soon we were crossing the snowfield with the summit pinnacle in view, passed by sulfur springs, and found ourselves at the top by 8:15. While not completely alone, the summit wasn’t too crowded, which was really great. We enjoyed the sun (and sustained 30mph winds) for a while before heading back down. The whole crew was in great spirits as we headed down the mountain, trading encouraging conversations with our fellow climbers still on their way up.

We made it!

At the top of the Red Banks, there were two descent options: strap on crampons and descend the way we had come up, or skirt to the climber’s right and go around the edge of the Banks. Most of the group decided to descend the ascent route, but Chris and I opted for something different. I’m definitely glad we did, both for the chance to try something new, and because the views of the Konwakiton Glacier to the east. A 6-foot downclimb and some slipping down a talus slope deposited us back onto the snow, and a short traverse later we rejoined our group on the glissade troughs. (A glissade is a mountaineering term for sliding down the mountain on your butt, using an ice axe to control your rate of descent.) We were a little early in the day, so the snow was a little hard, but we decided to glissade anyway. Now, while way easier than downclimbing the whole way, glissading was still a little strenuous. It also made the 2000 foot descent to Lake Helen go by way quicker.

Suncupped snowfield

After a stop for lunch, and to pack up our things, we continued on our descent, through soft snow to 50/50, then on the trail from there. I was still practically floating on the glow from summitting, so it barely seemed to take any time at all. When I looked back up the mountain from the parking lot, with the chimneys of the Red Banks so small in the distance, I could barely believe that we had just descended from the summit. Definitely one of the best weekend adventures I’ve ever had!

Some closing thoughts:
- On both Whitney and Shasta you have to pack out your poo. While the Whitney “pack-out bags” seem a bit more secure, the Shasta kits win the prize for humor. They offer a paper sheet to aim at, literally. It looks much like this:

- I felt amazing on the mountain, even at altitude. I could tell there was less oxygen, but I didn’t even get a headache. I attribute this to a few things: camping at 10,000′ helped a lot, i really paid attention to eating/drinking, and this time the vagaries of altitude decided to not effect me.
- I’m looking forward to going back for a few reasons. On my to-do list is learning to downhill ski. I think a ski-descent of Shasta is a must! Also, I’d like to get better at glacier travel, so the Hotlum Glacier has my name written all over it.

Background info:  At 14, 505′ Mt Whitney is the tallest mountain in the contiguous United States.  We chose to take the Mountaineer’s Route up the mountain, a less popular, more strenuous, and in my opinion wayyyy more beautiful way up the mountain.  For more details about the route, check it out here.

I didn’t do my homework last summer.  In years and years of school I probably missed one homework assignment, maybe two at most, so it figures that not doing my homework would start to catch up with me outside of school.  Having not done my research, I had no idea what an early deadline there is to get permits for Whitney!  This year, though, I was prepared, I was going to get a permit!  Funny thing about a lottery, though…sometimes you don’t win.  Undeterred, my two coworkers and I had noticed that earlier in the season there were always lots and lots of no-shows.  So, we (Chris, Ethan and myself) took off on a likely seeming Friday afternoon, hoping that there would be a few less enthusiastic permit holders.

We drove a few hours from Cupertino to crash with a friend of mine in Fresno (thank you @teaganita).  The next morning, we awoke bright and early in order to get to the Lone Pine Ranger Station in time for the 11 o’clock lottery.  As it turned out, there weren’t any suitable permits for us available at 11, only overnight permits beginning the following day.  So, we decided to pick up some gear (crampons and axes at Lone Pine Sporting Goods…not too expensive and they did the job) and took a trip up to Whitney Portal to set up our tent at the Whitney Portal before returning later in the afternoon, hoping that there would be some no-shows.  As luck would have it, there were and we became the proud owners of three day-use permits for the Whitney Zone on Sunday.

Chris points out sea-level

We had time to kill, though.  It occurred to me that we weren’t far from the lowest point in the contiguous US and that we would be hiking to the highest point the next day.  So, naturally, we took off for Death Canyon National Park (which happened to be free that weekend!) and visited Badwater Basin and played on some sand dunes.  We made it back to the Portal, cooked dinner and sorted our gear, ready for a 3am departure.

Sand dunes in Death Valley

We hit the trail at 3:30 (who ever actually leaves on time?).  The trailhead is at about 8000′ and on the main trail takes its time winding up interminable switchbacks.  After making the turn off the main trail without issue, we discovered that the Mountaineer’s Route was not quite the same and headed uphill.  About half an hour or 45 minutes in, we ran into a little bit of trouble.  After missing a creek crossing, we headed up some steep granite.  At that point, all of us wished that we had actually read a description of the route more carefully…oops.  We eventually made our way back to the right route, but only after losing about 30 minutes.  Mis-step number 2 came at the base of the ledges.  We were split on the right way to go, and ended up taking the variation to the south of the creek instead of going up.  As the day grew lighter, I spied the more traveled route on the other side of the canyon, so we dropped back across the stream and bushwhacked across.  Finally we were on the right track!  Soon after crossing over, we ran into a pair of climbers coming down from the East Buttress who had been forced to bivy because they couldn’t find the ledges.  I shook my head at the bad luck these guys were having, but at least we weren’t the only ones who didn’t find the ledges in the dark.  Little did I know that they looked in good shape compared to what our party would deal with.

Sunrise from Lower Boy Scout Lake

As dawn broke, we found ourselves at Lower Boy Scout Lake, with plenty of trail left to go.  For the most part, the route was clear and easy to follow with cairns every once in a while  It was also easy to avoid snow all the way up to Iceberg Lake (at 12,000′).  After we passed Upper Boy Scout Lake, and approached Iceberg Lake, we angled to the right and stayed high, scrambling up a short class 3 section near a frozen waterfall that was actually pretty slick (It was a good boulder problem, I thought, but my partners found it a little unnerving).  Had we gone low, we wouldn’t have had the same obstacle to climb, but it would’ve taken longer to slog through a big snowfield.  In any case, the scramble deposited us on the lake’s plateau, where we took some time to rest and try to eat.  It was at this point that each of us began feeling the altitude at least a little, with some headaches and food tasting like sawdust in our mouths.

The ribbon in the center is the gully we ascended (approx 35 degree snow)

From the lake up was still covered in snow (and we had to chip ice before collecting our water), so we strapped on crampons and headed up the steep gully.  Since we were a little late in the day, the snow slope was a little soft, making the going a bit difficult.  When we reached the notch, we were informed by a guided group that had just descended that the traditional route was very icy.  Since Ethan was feeling weak, and Chris was new to crampons, we decided to take the less strenuous, and more straightforward, traverse to gain the summit plateau.  Once on the plateau, we each started moving at our own pace, since the path was clear and the worst of the hiking was behind us.  In retrospect, I really should have known better and we shouldn’t have spread out at all.  I reached the summit at about 2:30.  It was a beautiful day, and despite having a small headache, I couldn’t stop marveling at the views (Iceberg lake below, Lone Pine and the Whites in the distance, and the Sierra stretching out behind)

About 10 minutes later, Chris joined me on the summit, but Ethan didn’t arrive at the top until just past 3:00.  When he did arrive, he wasn’t in great shape…exhausted, with a headache, and feeling cold.  After a couple very quick photos, I got Ethan inside the summit shelter to try and warm up.  It was here I learned that he was a bit underprepared, at least part of his headache came from the fact that he hadn’t been wearing sunglasses all day.  Also, he had no hat or heavy jacket so he thought he didn’t have a way to get warm.  Fortunately, I wasn’t going for light and fast that day and I bundled him up in most of my layers until he started to perk up a bit.  I wasn’t sure if he was suffering from hypothermia or from the altitude, since they conveniently have the same symptoms, so I figured we ought to descend as quickly as possible.  Given the condition of our crew, we all decided the Main Trail was our most prudent route (and that’s what we had listed on our trip plan).

Chillin' at the summit.

As we moved slowly towards Trail Crest, I became more and more worried that we would have to negotiate the icy switchbacks in the dark.  To make things worse, Ethan became increasingly listless, continued to be unable to eat anything without vomiting (though he did try a few of my Clif bars), and had run through his own 3 liters of water in addition to one of mine.  Every step of the way I was keeping up a running chatter, wishing I could send Ethan more energy and willing him to concentrate.

Night fell as we hit the 99 switchbacks, and keeping Ethan conscious between steps was becoming increasingly difficult.  My patience was being severely tested, since he was completely incapable of focusing, which in addition to annoying me a little bit, was also making me more worried.  Once again, I bundled Ethan up in all of my layers (despite his insistence that he was not cold), which seemed to help a lot confirming at least a little hypothermia.  Finally, we made it to Trail Camp (where one resident had been following our headlamps’ progress down the mountain, wondering if we needed help).  There, we finally got more water and managed to get Ethan and Chris to eat something, which perked them both up (Chris had a small headache and nausea).

Since the trail was still partially covered in snow, and I was unfamiliar with the route, route finding was quite difficult for a few sections.  I figured it out, though, and the only challenge for the rest of the return was keeping one exhausted Ethan awake enough to continue the hike down.  Finally, at 4:30 on Monday morning, 25 hours after departing, we stumbled back to the car and promptly fell asleep in the seats.  Needless to say, we arrived at work a bit late on Monday (read: we created our own three day weekend), but at least we all returned safely.

I would like to highlight that this trip could easily have gone very wrong, and nearly did.  Fortunately, as a group, we were prepared enough for the situation, but even experienced hikers (like Ethan, who has extensive winter hiking experience, too) can make mistakes that put themselves and their partners at risk (i.e. not enough layers) because they think nothing will go wrong.  It’s also easy for the stronger members of the party (i.e. me) to miss signs that indicate turning back would be prudent.  It would’ve cost me a summit, but it probably would have been best for Ethan to turn around after we had reached the summit plateau. It is always helpful to remember those lessons.

On that note…awesome trip, amazing views, and fun to have gone from the lowest low to the highest high in the lower 48 in less than 24 hours.  I don’t think I’ll ever do the Whitney Trail up, and am looking forward to trying the East Buttress or East Face someday!

I arrived at McCarren Airport in the late afternoon on 3/21 and met up with my friend, Brandon, who had arrived earlier in the day.  Fortunately, he was able to work out all the rental car details and had already visited the campsite and pitched our tent.  Unfortunately, we still needed to wait three hours for Ian and Adrienne to show up, who had been on a late flight to begin with which ended up being postponed even more.  Anyway, by about 12:30, we had all our bags and made our way to the campsite.

Day 1 - 3/22
We arrived on the evening that the Red Rock Rendevous was wrapping up, and the weather was less than stellar, so there was no climbing to be had on our first day.  Instead, we ran some errands (fuel and a guide book from Desert Rock Sports, grocery story) then headed over to the Rendevous to catch up with Jason Martin, AAI guide and good friend of my buddy Ian.  I had previously met Jason only very briefly, but got to talk to him a little more this time around.  He had taught Ian most of what he knows about climbing, and Ian had in turn started teaching me, so I guess that Jason is kind of my climbing grandfather, which I think is really awesome.  If you don’t know Jason, or all about him, check out the awesome AAI blog (http://alpineinstitute.blogspot.com/) or his personal web page (http://www.dramaticwriter.com/OutdoorAdventure09.html).  After lunch, we decided to head over to the first pullout and just hike around.  Despite the rain, and a touch of hail, we had a lot of fun, and were getting excited for some climbing in the better weather forecast for the following day.

Messing around at the first pulloff from the scenic loop.

Day 2 - 3/23
Time to hit the rocks!  We started out by getting ourselves warmed up with some intro sport climbing.  Our first stop was at  Panty Wall, where we started out with in two teams: the two comfortable leaders (Ian and Adrienne) split up with me and Brandon, respectively.  Adrienne and I ran up and down Silk Panties and The Last Panty, both 5.7, a few times.  Next, we moved onto the Black Corridor.  At that time, I had never led a climb before, but I was feeling decent and, as they say, there’s no time like the present.  I picked Bonair, a classic 5.9, located in the middle of the lefthand side of the lower canyon that looked like a lot of fun.  It was a little anticlimatic: everything went off without a hitch and I was lowering before I knew it :)  The walls were busy, so I was having as much fun watching as anything else.  Once Ian had led it, I had a go on NIghtmare on Crude Street (5.10d) falling once on the crux, but getting after I had felt the hold once was able to stick it.  I really, really liked the route, actually.  We decided to end the day in the sun, so we headed over to the Magic Bus.  Neon Sunset (5.8) was open, and well bolted, so I ran up that before we had to headed back to the car to get out in time.  I definitely like Bonair better than Neon Sunset, but still not a bad climb.  Overall, it was a good day to get back into outdoor climbing, and my first lead to boot.

Day 3 - 3/24
We had planned another day of single pitch sport and trad to get into shape before some multi-pitch routes later in the week.  We headed over to Moderate Mecca, which we figured wouldn’t be very crowded, and we were right.  I was feeling a little lazy (and it was pretty hot), so I ended up taking it pretty easy.  I followed Adrienne on The Route to Mecca (5.7), and cleaned her gear, which was fun but nothing special.  After a short lesson in placing cams and nuts, I grabbed the rack and headed up Sir Climbalot (5.7) for my first trad lead.  This definitely made me think a little bit more than my few sport leads, but still went off mostly without issue.  Afterwards, I led up The Route to Mecca again before we took off for a late-day visit to Atman (5.10a) which I was lucky enough to get a move or two up…my crack climbing still needs lots of work.  We headed back to the car, and to camp, as the sun set and the stars came out.

My climbing partner, a Chuckwalla lizard

Day 4 3/25
On Day 4, we split up the team…Ian and Adrienne took the rack for an attempt of Black Orpheus, while Brandon and I held on to a few draws and the rope for some more sport climbing.  We headed back to the sunny and friendly Panty Wall to begin our day.  The nice weather led to a slightly busy wall, but we weren’t in much of a rush.  We climbed Brief Encounter, Sacred Undergarment Squeeze Job and Boxer Rebellion (all really fun, sustained 5.8).  Brandon had never climbed outside before, so he was still getting the hang of things, which slowed us up a bunch (read: 30 minutes to lower after he climbed), but the day was nice and I wasn’t in a rush, so no big deal.

As things got busier, we decided to hit up the Black Corridor again where I re-climbed Bonair so that Brandon could top rope it, then Bon EZ (5.9+), which was good, but not quite as much fun as Bonair in my opinion.  Then we headed to the upper level to climb 757 2×4 (5.7) which Brandon wanted to take the sharp end for.  Despite trying to clip the rope in backwards a few times, he got the hang of things eventually and led without a problem. I followed, for a good finish to the day, because we had to go pick up Ian and Adrienne.

When we picked them up, we heard their unfortunate story.  First, they had some trouble finding the base of the climb thanks to some overgrown trails, then got stuck behind a super slow party.  The howling wind midway up the 4th pitch was enough to send them back down, which was totally the right move.

Brandon lowering from Boxer Rebellion (5.8)

Day 5 3/26
My last day had me excited.  I was going to take the rack and the sharp end and head up Cat in the Hat (5.6, II) with Brandon following.  I was super psyched for the super classic (probably the most popular climb in all of RR), mulit-pitch lead.  The day was beautiful, meaning the route was crowded, but not too crowded thanks to some pretty high winds.  As I crested the top of the 4th pitch, I moved a little bit out of the protection offered by an arete and got hammered with what I would guess were 35-40 mph winds.  Since we were worried about communicating around the arete in high winds, Brandon and I decided to call it a day and rap down (we weren’t alone in this decision, two other groups were headed the same way).  The adventure wasn’t over, though, since as soon as I tossed the rope behind me, the wind streamed it out sideways.  After traversing wayyyy to my left in order to loosen the rope from a particularly sticky horn, the descent continued mostly without issue.  I nearly missed the final set of bolted anchors since we had taken a slight variation on the way up, but managed to spot them in time.  Overall, tons of fun, highly recommended.

Second belay on Cat in the Hat (5.6, II)

That brought an end to my time at RR for the week, so I headed back to McCarren to hop on a plane bound for Maryland and a very rainy and muddy Ultimate tourney (we got called off after 2 games), but that’s another story enitrely.

Check out the galleries section for more pictures, or check out my flickr pages.

I feel like there’s been a lot of death recently.  I realize that’s awfully self-centered of me; I know that hundreds of thousands of people die every day.  It’s just that for one reason or another, the concept has penetrated my protected little world and thoughts, thanks to both high profile celebrity deaths and accidents in the outdoors.

Cases in point:

Three weeks ago, I night-hiked Half Dome (trip report forthcoming).  Earlier that evening, a woman slipped and fell while on the cables section (the very steep final section that features large steel cable hand-rails).  She was lucky, and was caught by the cables.  She suffered a relatively minor head injury and was helicoptered to safety.  I learned of this after descending from my hike.

Two weeks ago, a 40 year old software engineer and father of two slipped and fell 100 feet to his death (as other hikers looked on), on the same section of trail.

Three weeks to a month ago, three elite climbers died on Mount Edgar in southwestern China.  They were all in their early thirties.

Yesterday, John Bachar, a father and climbing legend, died in a free soloing accident in Bishop, CA.

It’s an almost inevitable thing.  If you mountaineer or climb for long enough, odds are you will die doing it (unless you have some other high risk hobbies).  They are sports filled with objective hazards, and every move is a calculated risk.  Risks can be mitigated by preparation, training and good judgement, but when you’re on a mountain or wall, risk cannot be eliminated.  I was reading about the coverage of the mountaineering deaths in China, when I came across a particularly interesting take by Will Gadd, who wrote:

For me I’m never going to use the word “tragedy” in reference to a climbing or mountain sports accident again. A tragedy is when a whole family gets killed by a drunk driver. A tragedy is when a little kid gets abused. A tragedy is when a 30-year old mother of two young kids gets cancer and dies. Dying while climbing, kayaking, paragliding, BASE jumping or any other form of outdoor recreation isn’t a fucking tragedy, it’s a clearly predictable result of doing the activity. If I or anyone goes out while doing our sports with a clear understanding of the game we’re playing then let’s have a drink, cheer for the life lived, and move on as best we can. I know it’s not that simple as death leaves huge craters in life, but I think that’s the only sane response I can give to the continued and voluntary mountain carnage I keep seeing year in and year out. To celebrate the rewards without clearly understanding the risks is not only bad math but blatant self-deception.

Mountaineering and other adventure sports are awfully narcissistic, so the term ‘tragedy’ just doesn’t ring true.  So, for my part, I think Will is dead on. Enough said.

And to my mother:  for now at least, I am going to keep climbing walls and mountains.  At the same time, though, I need to remember that I’m 22 and despite feeling like I can live forever, I won’t.

(The fact that I recognize this should, at least, make my mother feel marginally better.  Well, at least until I tell her about my latest epic.)

The last weekend of winter school proved to be the most exciting.  Despite feeling a bit under the weather at the start of the weekend, I decided I couldn’t miss out on a chance to summit Washington in the winter.  Unfortunately, strenuous winter hiking isn’t a great cure, so both days were a bit rough on me and I’ve spent most of this week recovering, hence the delayed report.  You don’t want to hear about that, though, so on to the trip reports!

Saturday broke early and we headed out of Boston at about 5 am.  We made record time to Lincoln, NH, met up with the rest of our group and headed to the trailhead.  The plan was to start from the base of the Cog Railway and head up the Amanoosuc Ravine to Mt. Monroe and along the ridge to Mt. Eisenhower, then back down.  It turned out that the 6-8 inches of fresh powder made for heavy work when breaking trail, but breathtaking forest-scapes.  As we approached the Lakes of the Clouds, the trees thinned, and we found ourselves above treeline.  As we arrived at the AMC hut there, we ran into a couple of skiiers descending Washington.  I can only assume that their skis were trashed by the rocks!  After a short delay, we were ready to continue, but found that  the wind had picked up and was blowing snow all over, leading to very poor visibility.  Our leaders determined that the conditions were not safe enough to continue, so we turned around and headed back down the trail.

This led to an early arrival at Intervale, our home for the night.  We heated up the cabin, melted water, and cooked our dinners hoping for an early bedtime.  Soon, though, the cabin was bustling with new arrivals from Boston, all eager to make our attempt on Washington in the morning, so it wasn’t until after 11 that I was able to fall asleep.

Once again on Sunday we arose at 4am, stuffed down whatever breakfast we could, and headed for the trail.  We left from the Pinkham Notch AMC hut, up and to the north of Tuckerman’s Ravine and along the Lion’s Head trail.  Due to avalanche concerns, the winter trail is slightly different than the summer trail, and was very, very steep at points!  Nevertheless, we made it up eventually, with the aid of our crampons and axes.  Upon reaching treeline we encountered winds whipping over the Lion’s Head sustained at 40-45 mph and gusting to 80 at times (according to the weather observatory).  Fortunately the temperature stayed warmed, so it wasn’t exceedingly dangerous (~ 5-10 F).

Again, today, the fresh snow was whipped into the air by the high winds, so visibility was a concern.  Fortunately, though, we were able to see from cairn to cairn and could continue on to the peak.  Having left the trailhead at 6:15 am, we summitted at about 11:30.  We waited on the peak for another MITOC group, and began descending at about 12:15.  The high winds made for a difficult return trip while we were above treeline, and it had filled snow back into all of our tracks from the way up!  Nevertheless, we made good time and arrived back in the parking lot at 3pm.

My car was waiting for one of the members and much of the gear from a trailing group.  We expected them shortly, but they didn’t show up.  As it turned out, one of them had twisted an ankle, so we headed about half a mile back up the trail to help the descending team.  Finally at 5pm we were back on the road to Boston.

Overall, despite disregarding my health, the weekend was great fun.  I achieved my goal of getting to the top of Washington for the first time, in winter and exceedingly poor visibility to boot!  It’s gotten me excited for more mountains and winter summits to come!  (As always, check out the galleries section for more pictures.)

This week’s winter school adventure was my first time ice climbing! As I’ve told my mother, I’m convinced that ice climbing is an inherently unsafe activity and it really can’t be safe. I should have clarified: more extreme ice climbing is an inherently unsafe activity due to the variability and instability of really vertical or waterfall ice. Maybe I’m just justifying my activities now…

Anyway, in true MITOC tradition, Woody and Polly led us in a slow and heavy trip. It took most of the day to make it up the mountain with two technical pitches on the way up and three raps on the way down. Nevertheless, it was a great intro to ice climbing. We hiked about a mile south from the Crawford Notch AMC center, following the train tracks. Then we turned right and headed up Mount Willard. The next 45 minutes was very steep hiking, requiring crampons but no ice tools (except for one tricky ice bulge).

The first pitch of ice really turned out to be a mix of snow, ice, and a bit of mixed climbing at the end, something near WI2. It turned out to be a good intro, and the bit of mixed climbing at the end was challenging, and fun too. It was funky figuring out how crampons felt on rock. The second pitch was straight ice, WI3, and a ton of fun. I don’t know what else to say. Other than a slight case of the screaming barfies as my hands thawed out, the climb was just awesome. Plus, being roped in on the side of a mountain always feels good.

We took three raps and some hiking we made it back to the railroad tracks. By that time the temperature had dropped, and the wind kicked up making the hike back to the cars a bit chilly (my eyelashes kept freezing together when I blinked). We made it back safe and sound, though. Now I’m just looking forward to my next ice climbing adventure. (Sorry Mom!)

For pictures, check out the flickr set or the galleries page.

I decided to make the most of my first weekend of winter school and the long weekend, so I headed back up to New Hampshire on Monday (1/19).  Not far from Lincoln, NH on the Kancamangous Highway, right at the hairpin turn, is a trailhead that leads to two 4000′ peaks: North and South Hancock.  With a crew of 8 (including three guys named Jon, of John), we headed out of the parking lot and up the trail through a foot or so of fresh powder.

Of course, off of the trail, there was considerably more than just of a foot of powder!  About 3 miles into our journey, we headed off of the beaten path and up South Hancock.  The final half mile to the peak was the longest half mile of my life.  Breaking trail up steep powder slopes is tougher than I expected!  The hike along the ridgeline was fully worth all of the effort, though.  We hiked through miles of untouched snow and hemlock boughs brimming with snow.  Here and there, fox tracks crossed out path, but that was the only disturbance in feet of beautiful powder.  The steep trip down was even better: taking tight turns down the steep trail through untouched snow.  (I think I finally have something to compare with backcountry skiing.)

We reached the parking lot, after almost 10 miles of strenuous hiking, having walked through the waning light and into the night clicking on our headlamps along the way.  After a late and leisurely supper at the Common Man in Lincoln, it was back into the cars and onto I93 South back to Boston.  I’m excited to go back in the summer to see how the forest compares then.

For more pictures, check out the galleries page or my flickr photostream.

I headed out early, leaving the apartment at about 4:00 this morning. That got us to the 19 Mile Brook trailhead at about 8:30, and onto the trail at about 8:45. At the start, temperatures were hovering at about -15F, but rose as high as 5 or 10F during the day.

We hiked to the summit via Carter Notch, for a round trip of about 10 miles with almost 3500 feet of total elevation gain from trailhead to peak. For me, it was my first time needing/using crampons, and my first winter ascent in the White Mountains. Definitely something I’m looking forward to repeating! Another highlight of the trip is that it was led by Mike Kokko, an old friend of mine. Overall, it was a great day, a great hike, and in good company. The only blemish was that the sky was, for the most part, overcast, though the sun poked its head out briefly while we were on the way down.

Check out the galleries section for more pictures, or check out my or Kokko’s flickr pages.