The Sierra High Route

Monday morning I’m off to attempt what will probably be the most difficult adventure I’ve ever attempted–the Sierra High route. First, I’m headed to Tehipite Valley, just N of King’s Canyon for a shakedown hike with three younger friends–I couldn’t turn down the invitation to see Tehipite, especially since I was the one who advised they go there anyway. I’ve been really wanting to see Tehipite. It’ll be an epic all by itself. Then, I’m beginning the Sierra High Route on Aug 1st, and am hoping to complete it by the 14th.

The Sierra High route is a remote mostly off trail route that runs roughly 200 miles from Road’s End, in King’s Canyon National Park, to Mono Village at Twin Lakes (roughly 30 miles N of Tioga Pass). [See this http://www.onthetrail.org/images/shr/HSR_500Kv2.JPG for an overview map of the route] The “route” is exactly that. It’s creator, Steve Roper, a famous rock climber and backcountry enthusiast, wanted it to be as trail-less and as high in elevation as possible, a point he made clear when he made his route public in his book, The Sierra High Route: Traversing The High Country. In his book he outlines the route in written form only. Those attempting the route are expected to seek the path of least resistance between landmarks, a feat that means constant navigation, some of it difficult. The route includes many rarely used passes in the Sierra’s, but never becomes more technical than class 3 scrambling. One can expect never to see another person on the off trail parts, that is to say, most of the route. From some accounts one would wonder if the terrain is indeed limited to only class 3. Several highly experienced thru-hikers have attempted the route and bailed citing the dangerous and intimidating terrain as their reason for quitting. Certainly, the route is far more intimidating and dangerous than the PCT, JMT, AT or even CDT, (all nearly 3,00 mile trails excepting the JMT) though exactly how bad it is can only be determined by actually doing it.

Most who attempt this route do it in ultralight style–gambling that speed will aid their progress. These few intrepid souls realize that light really is right. Those that don’t go ultralight take at least one month to complete the route, as did a Backpacking magazine editor–if they succeed at all. I am to complete it in two weeks. Few even know the route exists, despite the route’s 30 plus years of age. If one walks into an REI and mentions it you’ll either get a blank look or they’ll think you’re talking about the High Sierra Trail. Yet, it is probably the crown jewel of backpacking in the lower 48 states. I’d prefer to keep it that way.

The route is nearly universally agreed to be one of the most difficult established (barely established) backpacking trip in the lower 48 states. One could string something together that would be more difficult, but it would be very likely overly technical to be labeled backpacking trip. Supposedly, about 10 people thru hike the route every year. That’s far, far less than any other famous long or difficult trail. In the last year or two this number has likely risen a small amount do to increased interested–but not much.

Everyone, even the famed Andrew Skurka, who recently appeared in National Geographic magazine for his circumnavigation of Alaska entirely on foot, packraft, and skis says that the Sierra High Route’s miles are abnormally tough. Everyone I’ve heard of estimates that a backpackers normal mileage will drop to somewhere between 25%-70% of what it would normally be when on the Sierra High Route–if they can hack it at all. That part is scary. Not knowing exactly how difficult we’ll find the route is part of the challenge. Can we make the 14 miles a day we’ll need? I’ll find out.

I’ve been interested in the Sierra High Route for years–ever since I read Roper’s book in my teens, but only became serious about doing it in the last few years. Unfortunately, I knew no one willing to undertake such a venture with me, until I met a highly experienced ex rock and alpine climber, Steve Silva, who’s from Idaho on a backpacking forum I’ve been frequenting for years. We have the same goal, and I get the distinct impression he’s far more skilled than myself (it’s always nice to have a partner stronger than you . Since we’ll both rock climbers the scrambling shouldn’t bother us. We’re both concerned about the large snow year and speed, however. Only time will tell how big of problems those will be.

If you are particularly interested in the Sierra High Route I’d recommend visiting Skurka’s website and reading Roper’s book. They are by far the best sources of information about the route.

http://www.andrewskurka.com/SHR08/index.php

As High As A Kite

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It was that time again. Time to leave a faulted and fractured world behind and to once again peek into nature’s gaping maw. Break hadn’t been all it should have been. This would be chance for redemption. Nature seems to do that for me, that is, it seems to set things right. I suppose nature does the same thing for every starry-eyed dreamer who find themselves drawn to that blank spot on the map.

I was attempting to be daring. No wussified adventure could purge me from a semester full of deadlines, anxiety, rushed meals, and other assorted general tortures. I wanted to do something harder than I’d ever tried. Damn unpreparedness. I wanted to summit Mt Shasta in the dead of winter. Early winter too, before the weather and snowpack had stabilized. Chances of success would be very low indeed. Even relatively low and benign peaks within the Cascades, such as Shasta, are known for their sometimes fearful weather. They regularly kill and injure climbers—and the early winter season is the worst possible time to attempt a summit. I planned to climb solo. I’ve never done much solo stuff before, though I’ve always wanted to. This would be a chance to try it, though hardly in a contained environment. A perfect recipe for disaster. Naturally, I was trying to keep my plans on the down and low. I don’t want to be a bad example, nor did I wish to make people worry. Perhaps I’m insane. If so, I’d imagine I’m a lucky insane person.

I was hoping to budget three days for Shasta and then immediately head down to the absolute opposite end of California and be in Joshua Tree the next day, in order to climb there for a week. I had further assumed responsibility by organizing a group that was going to climb down there. I had begun to realize that combining Shasta and Joshua Tree on such close of a timeline was a bad idea. Shasta would simply take too much out of me. I would be exhausted before I had even made it to Joshua Tree.

A week before I was supposed to be on its slopes Shasta was hit by wave after wave of massive winter storms. Several feet of fresh, unconsolidated powder was falling on the mountain’s slopes every night. Wind-speeds were fast enough to knock a man over at 9,000 feet. Powder accumulation was such that I’d be doomed to post-hole anywhere even near Shasta—even when wearing snowshoes. The weather would nearly guarantee white-out conditions high on the mountain. Attempting the Shasta, under the conditions, was suicide. I’ll consider the equivalent of a game of russian roulette now and again when mountaineering, but suicide is not my gig. I called off that part of the trip.

Instead, I and my friend Nathaniel, decided last-minute to try to go snow camping. That plan collapsed between not getting an early enough start and being sold the wrong size chains that should have fit his Jeep but didn’t. Instead we hung out with a friend and skied the next day.

Finally, we made our course southward my favorite winter destination. I’d swear on a bible that Joshua Tree is a downright magical place. It’s like nowhere I’ve been. It has a quality I can only describe as ethereal. I *love* it. We arrived at the campground and waited to for Cara, who was the first climber to show up. Once she showed we decided to do a short route near the camp called the SW Corner of Headstone (5.6). I headed up the short route eager to climb, but it was more difficult than I remembered. Just as I snapped my quickdraw on the second bolt my foot smeared loose and I suddenly fell. This is what went through my head, not good. This is a 5.6! And I’ve climbed it before! I’m not supposed to fall. BAM. Wait . . . I just decked! Aaannnndddd, it didn’t hurt. Why am I fine? Aw, whatever, get your dumbass back on the route and stop making a fool of yourself :/> I’m still not exactly sure why I didn’t get hurt. I fell because I wasn’t smearing correctly. I’m indebted to Cara’s excellent belay. Nate decided he didn’t want to climb it but Cara followed my up and we enjoyed the view.

The next day we visited a nice area known as Trashcan rock. It’s a pretty mellow place with nothing really higher than 50 feet. There, Nate somehow injured his knee on a super easy 5.3. We couldn’t figure out why. Cara got to assist anAMGA class on a rescue procedure. Nate spent the rest of the day in the car frustrated with his injury. I felt pretty terrible about that. Cara and I climbed several routes there, the most notable of these being Tiptoe (5.7) a fun sport route that has lots of positive small footholds. Just before we climbed it a dude came up and free soloed the route for kicks. Trashcan is a popular soloing area. You see lots of people coming out ‘running laps’ on the easier routes there. Cara tried her first lead, which sorta surprised me. She wasn’t interested in trying a year ago. We did a fun, really short 5.8 trad double crack called Cranny as well.

That evening we went back to camp early and decided to try some boulderingsince Nate had a pad. We had no idea where the bouldering routes would be, but decided to look around near our camp. We first stumbled across what I latterlearned was a V7 (which was at one time the hardest problem in J-Tree). We gave it a try but clearly couldn’t do it. Next Cara spotted what we hoped was an easier problem. We took turns cranking away at the thing and getting frustrated. Interestingly, we found we preferred entirely different methods of attempting the boulder. I must have tried that boulder 15 times. I really, really wanted to send it. I loved how I could keep on trying something that I knew I wouldn’t have a prayer onsighting. And since the feet on that blasted problem were practically non-existent it forced me to move quickly and pull down with every bit of my meager strength. Finally, Cara knocked some sense into my head and told me to slow down a little so to be smoother and more efficient. I took her advice and tried again. I thought my arms would pop I was cranking so hard. BUT I MADE IT! It felt SO amazing! I let out a yell that could have been heard miles away. I’d never sent a boulder before, and now I know why people do it. A) it’s exhilarating, B) it’s fantastic training. It turns out the thing was a V1, which I suppose isn’t that impressive. But, *I’m* proud of it. I *finally* sent my first boulder! WAAAAAAA HOOOOOOOO!

That night Kevin, a friend of Nate’s showed up, as well as Cara’s roommate Renee. Kevin’s been climbing for 6 years and is strong. The next day we decided on a climb called Mike’s Book’s, an easy 5.6 two pitch trad lead. I led and Renee followed while pulling a second rope that we set as a TR for Cara and Kevin. I found the thing slightly unnerving at times since I couldn’t find any placements where I wanted them. Falling wasn’t an option. At the top of the second pitch I did something I’ve worried I’d do for some time. I dropped my belay device. As I watched it bounce down the rock face my mind registered shock, that was as much from unbelief than anything else. I felt like a total idiot. I always, always carry a second ATC for just such an event, but left it in my bag this morning. I prayed that I could remember how to tie a Muter hitch and safely belay Renee. Luckily, I remembered. Getting down turned out to be just as embarrassing. First I attempted to use my Shunt, a mechanical prussic, to rappel the first pitch. It didn’t really work, but I made it down. Then Kevin walked me through making a carabiner brake with a bunch of his ovals for the second pitch. At the bottom we met up with Nate and Aaron, since Aaron had just shown up.

After that we went TRing, out in real hidden valley. The next day the group wentTRing again and I stole Nate, who was on crutches, but still could belay, to climb Double Cross (5.7+/5.8-), in the Hidden Valley campground. Double Cross is a famous fist jam crack that several people have died on. People die because they can’t place gear or because they don’t have it. I’d never done a fist jam crack. When I looked up at the route it looked harder than I had imagined it. To be honest, I was concerned that Double Cross would be to much for me both before I and after I saw it. Fist jamming has a steep learning curve, and I had no experience with it. The first 30 feet of the climb was easy face stuff. The trick was transitioning left into the crack. There was one good left jam, and a shaky right jam. I had to swing out into space on just one jam and that just wasn’t enough for me. I couldn’t do it. I tried, and tried. I tried and fell. I tried and back climbed. I gave up.

Nate, being the excellent friend he is, motivated me to keep on trying. I love that about Nate. He has a talent for talking me into giving just a little bit more. Nate made me really commit. Finally, I fired the sequence and made it into the crack. As I thrashed my way up the crack, jamming for my dear life I learned that jamming is far, far more physical that I had previously imagined. Thus, I resorted to hangdoging when my arms couldn’t take it any more. The whole thing felt rather surreal, but I made it—but by the very skin of my teeth.

Next we attempted to connect with everyone else in the group. Aaron, Cara, Renee, and Kevin had gone off to climb in another area. We headed to where they were supposed to park but their vehicle wasn’t to be seen. However, we saw something that was in my mind infinitely better. In the distance, strung from two high points, was an awe-inspiring high line. (High-lining being the art of walking on a fairly loose piece of one inch wide webbing strung at great hight between two distant points). I’d never before see someone high lining. When welater discovered our friends vehicle in a different parking lot I it was nearer to the high liners so I very naturally elected to go observe and possibly ask if I might try it. After a long scramble I reached the high liners and engaged them in conversation. Frankly, it looked crazy scary. They were just taking it down and informed me that unless I had slack lining experience they wouldn’t have let me try it anyway

I set off scrambling and hiking cross-country to find my friends. As I did so, I was struck by the beauty of the area. I love the rugged, wild nature of this high desert. Even cacti have a symmetry and color that can only be described a beautiful nearly beyond belief. I plan on returning to Joshua Tree just to backpack and explore. Life isn’t entirely about climbing, after all. That night we returned to camp and went bouldering. My arms were totally knackered. I tried the V1 boulder again and despite knowing how to do I couldn’t send it. My body felt like wood. I was knackered. Then I got mad at myself and sent it again anyway.

That night we made a massive dinner of mexico food. It was fantastic. Props to Cara and Renee doing most of the cooking.

The next day we were to have a bunch of people visiting for just the day. Before that, however, my sister Noelle and John-Mark (JM) Kane arrived. The next day we visited an area none of us had been too. I led an easy climb that wasn’t much fun and Kevin led R.M.L. (5.9). Both were set up on TR and people lined up to try them. That morning I felt exhausted again, but began feeling better as the day wore on. R.M.L. turned out to be tons of fun. It had a bouldery roof start and a continued into a fun slab. I had a ball repeatedly cranking through the beginning moves. I enjoyed it so much I almost pulled the rope and led it myself. Next to R.M.L. was a 5.10 that had a brutal start. It required one hell of a reach and stretched my arms for all they were worth. Plus, the holds were entirely nasty crimps and the feet were non-existent. It played hell with your arms. Kevin finally sent it, but it defeated everyone else.

The next day we decided to go to a remote park of the park called the wonderland of rocks, to attempt a Mental Physics (5.7). It’s a super classic trad crack climb. Not having much beta on the climb, and a little scared from my experience on Double Cross I elected to grab the entirety of my trad rack. As we hiked out I realized I had little energy, but figured I’d soon feel better like the day before. Fifteen minutes into the hike, however, I was exhausted and felt the compelling need to water a cacti. I told the rest of the group to go ahead and I’d catch up. Big mistake. As I resumed moving I soon realized how tired and week I was feeling. The weight of my rope, rack, and water was killing me. My nose was stuffed up, and though I didn’t realize it I had a cold. I hadn’t been eating all that much since most of my food was with Nate and his now vacant car and that certain contributed. Plus, I was knackered, plain and simple. As I stumbled through the desert on what passed for a trail (a desert wash—it wasn’t a trail) I thought of how cool the area would seem if I didn’t feel like dropping dead in my tracks. I couldn’t spot Mental Physics, and there wasn’t a plan for meeting up with the group again other than getting there. I yelled out to them and asked the rare person I met on the trail if they had seen them, all to no avail.

After searching more than far enough down the trail (and lots of breaks) I headed back. Along the way I became convinced that if I didn’t get my poor little tail outta there fast I could wind up in critical condition. I didn’t want to walk out and make everyone worry, but I was fast turning into liability. I’d like to survive, and under my own power thank-you-very-much. Along the way I was forced to take more frequent breaks and was embarrassed by my own weakness. I met a group along the way who was also looking for Mental Physics and when I suddenly noticed it. I pointed it out. They seemed quite concerned for me, and asked if I was all right, or if I needed food or water. This puzzled me at the time, since I wasn’t owning up to how much I was in a bad way at that time. After a delusional wrong turn or two I made my way out of the maize of rocks and commenced recuperating and camping out in the parking lot. Nate arrived about an hour later (he was supposed to meet us there) and I told him of my mishap. He made me realize I was sick and told me that Cara had managed to text him saying the group was concerned since they couldn’t find me.

Latter, when the group re-united we pieced the story together. The last group I had talked to, who seemed concerned for me met my friends and said they were fairly certain I was either drunk or had a bad hangover (interesting, but not true). Apparently, I looked so terrible they weren’t certain I’d make it back to the parking lot. Plus, I had when I admitted I wasn’t feeling very strong I had used the word ‘wasted’ to mean that I was tired, rather than using it correctly, thus reinforcing the idea that I was hung over. We thought that was about as hilarious as could be.

That evening after a lot of rest we all were convinced by Cara to once again climb the SW corner of Headstone and fly her kite from its summit in the high winds. It turned out to be the most brilliant idea of the entire trip. Flying a kite on top a big rock, as the sun sets, with a bunch of fellow fun-loving adrenaline junkies is about as euphoric as life comes. Holding the kite’s string brought feelings of elation that I can’t describe. It was freezing cold, and I was sick, but it didn’t matter. We were having a hell of a time and we were most literally, ‘as high as a kite.’ You haven’t lived until you’ve flown a kite on top of a pinnacle of inaccessible rock.

That night Renee and I cooked up a delicious feast of Asian food, while Cara baked amazing brownies in the coals. That, plus a beer tons of good stories and laughs brought contented sighs around the fire. It was a satisfying end.

Dream in video

I very much enjoy finding films that showcase the sports that I love and even more importantly, the beautiful world we live in. These are some of my recent favorites.

An artsy film about the beauty of the coast, filmmaking, surfing, and living a worthwhile life. Absolutely awesome. And it doesn’t have a thing to do with climbing. Think of that!

Sweet climbing film. Tim Emmett attempts an extreme trad route on minimal gear.

Hilarious aid climbing ‘rant.’ Mixes truths, half truths, and lies into an eloquent mixture.

Impressive climbing photography. A tribute to an action photographer.

Thrilling and impressive urban climbing. It’s even not entirely highball/boulder/free solo stuff either. There’s some urban trad mixed in there. Think of that!

This one really shows the realities of hard Scottish winter climbing. There’s even some falls.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

—William Ernest Henley

Colorado Dreamin’

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I had been dreaming to much. Dreaming of the western wastelands, of high mountain passes and granite spires casting their lofty shadows over perfectly clear alpine lakes. It was in my blood. That alpine wanderlust, inexorably driving me into the mountains. This time, I didn’t want to go to the Sierras. For one thing, I lacked the proper transportation, and since public transport is hardly workable in CA, the Sierras were strictly out. I had been wanting to tour Colorado, preferably with my own vehicle and equally mountain-crazy partner, but alas, that too was not to be (for the aforementioned reason). Since one of the most important things I wanted to do was rock climb I decided to be practical and try for a simple, several day climbing trip. With a friend. Preferably one from Colorado, who could climb and had a car. I remembered I had just the friend. I met Joanna several years previously, at a political event in Fort Collins and had kept in contact, especially in the last year or so. I’d like to believe I can judge how someone will hold up on one of my crazy trips, and I was pretty certain that Joanna could both learn how to climb, and climb well enough that both she and I could enjoy myself. She was game and the trip was on.

Once I reached Fort Collins we journeyed to Estes Park for our first day of climbing and crash training for Joanna. She received a crash course that seemed eerily similar to the one that I received when I first begin climbing. We wound our way up Batman & Robin (5.6) for an easy, moderate start and then went looking for Left Book, but were caught in a sudden thunderstorm. I, not being used to the Front Range’s sudden thunderstorms had forgotten to bring my rain, jacket unlike my wiser native friend. Soon the rain stopped and I realized that perhaps the rocks would not be too wet to climb on. We continued further along the rock wall/ridge formation that makes up Estes’ prominent landmark until we stumbled upon a striking, very large flake that leaned up against the wall and topped out and a finger crack leading yet further upwards. It was magnetic. The climb called my name plainer than anything I had ever yet heard. I knew I had to climb it. It looked hard. Likely beyond my meager ability. Once we examined the guidebook I discovered that this was a climb I had read about previously—a true classic known as Pear Buttress (5.8+ or 5.9 with the flake start variation). Not only that, Pear Buttress was first ascended by Layton Kor—a true climbing legend.

I realized I HAD to try. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t. One never knows, I could get lucky. I choose the 5.9 variation because the 5.8+ slab would have eaten me alive. Slabs throughly frighten me. I know, I’m pathetic, I should be able to climb slabs. But, in my defense, the flake looked far more classic to me. I somehow clamored up the flake, placing pro and hangdoging on it when I became tired. My feet, clad in new shoes, were oddly racked very painful spasms causing even yet more hangdoging. Once the flake topped out I was at the finger-sized vertical crack. I had never climbed one of these. It was all rather intimidating. But, I figured, ‘there’s no time like the present to learn,’ and anyway, I just climbed 5.9, how bad can 5.8+ be?

I jammed my fingers into the crack to shockingly find that they fit perfectly. My small hands were made for this crack, I thought. As I moved up I fed the crack a collection of small nuts and cams whenever I could. Near the top, the crack become shallower, and I suddenly realized I was going to fall. Since the crack was difficult for me to climb I had been trying to move quickly, to avoid burnout and the chance of popping off the tenuous grip I had on the rock. Thus, I had only been slotting protection when I had a rest stance. I had run out of rest stances when the crack became more shallow. My heart shuddered, as I realized how much I had run myself out. I grabbed my small nuts and desperately attempted to slot one in the shallow crack praying feverishly for a ‘Jesus nut’ that would save my sorry, knackered ass. After all, I was an ass for running it out. The dratted nut was no good. I cursed under my breath, being concerned that Joanna would find it offensive.

Magically (for there was no other reason), I had not fallen. Not desiring to inquire or discover why I had not fallen I hastily thrust my carabiner full of nuts into my mouth and strove further upward, in attempt to find a better nut placement. My mind was completely focused—fueled on the power of panicked fear. Several feet higher I found a saving placement and slotted my, ‘Jesus nut.’ I could not contain the whoop of joy that ripped out of my lungs. I had won.

The crack ended at a nice belay ledge another twenty or thirty feet further and I covered that distance with comparative ease. I called down to Joanna and asked if she wanted to come up or not. I was nearly certain she would not want to—knowing that the climb was hard. I should have known better. I scratched my head and set about trying to improvise a primitive hauling system that would let me weight the rope to help her over the difficult parts. It took me awhile. Joanna struggled the whole way up, gaining respect for the climb and while I tried to weight the rope whenever possible. Due to me using almost entirely passive protection, hangdoging lower on the route, and the route’s difficulty she had a time cleaning all the gear.

Once she made it up I knew I could not finish the route. I was impressed she made it as far I she did, even with my help. It was hard to tell exactly how long the first pitch was (this being what we had just completed). Wanting to not leave much gear when we bailed off the route I had Joanna rappel first. I was concerned that the rope would not reach the ground and warned her of my concern, but like the lousy teacher I am, I failed to provide her with an ascending devise if the rope indeed failed to reach the ground. Instead, I told her to, ‘hand over hand on the rope, and pull the slack through your ATC.’ Exactly that happened. And while the technique works, it is very strenuous. She had what looked to be a devil of a time trying to ascend back to the top of the flake. I felt terrible for letting her into such a predicament, but at this point there was little I could do. In her frustration Joanna said some things that both impressed me and made me realize that my earlier concerns of offending her were hardly valid. Somehow, in the moment, I found this intensely amusing.

She made it up. I rappelled off a single nut, being a cheapskate I am. It was bomber. I managed to clean the rest of the gear. I too, could have never cleaned those while following. One piece I could not clean no matter how hard I tried. When I pulled the rope it got caught in the flake and I spent quite some time getting it free. By then it was late and we called it a day.

The next day we journeyed to Poudre Canyon and hiked up to Greyrock to climb there. I climbed Aunt Edena’s Costume Jewelry (5.7) while hangdoging practically off every bolt. It was a blasted slab. I really do hate slabs. My technique must be terribly wrong. We next went up _____ (5.6), a short easy jaunt. Then we went off to head up Theodore (5.6) a several pitch route where I found a stuck cam that I was certain that was stuck for good. Joanna got it loose. The route wasn’t very sustained and was rather boring after the first pitch. By the time we got to this climb I was exhausted and rather sunburnt. I wore a spare shirt of Joanna’s around my head to protect my burnt neck from the sun. It looked weird, but it worked. As we hiked back to the car we both realized we were exhausted. We moved quickly—eager for the rest and food we’d get once we reached the car.

The next day we were slightly at loss as to where to go again. I was not enthused with the idea of going back to Greyrock, and while I was certainly interested in going back to Estes, that was rather far away and we were both tired and more interested in something more mellow. We decided on Horsetooth Reservoir to find some mellow TRing and bouldering, but didn’t find the TRing. We bouldered some, considered doing something else that day, since we were both feeling tired and lacked the energy to climb. We would up just sitting around and having interesting conversations interspersed with trying mostly mellow bouldering problems. A day of downtime turned into a good thing. Latter Joanna whipped up some incredibly tasty eats. Let’s just say that I’m definitely going to make spring rolls one of these fine days.

The last day we wound up going to an area called Jurassic park/Lily Lake where Joanna led a short sport climb that I figure was rated 5.7. She scampered right up, like it was no sweat. It was harder than it looked. I took a fall going up, trying to give her experience belaying on lead and she held me, but she burned her hands. Lead belaying is tricky, but she did fine. I haven’t been able to figure out the name of that route. Next we hiked up to the main formation where we would up climbing with a very friendly couple from Texas on a route they were trying to send. The route, Dynamometer (5.11b), was a really nice face climb on a rock called the Fin. It was comparatively mellow till it’s crux near the top where the climb went from being no worse than 5.9 to being a true 5.11b—way out of my ability level. This guy from Texas almost had it but was happy to let me have a try. I made it to the crux and was stopped cold. It was fun to watch him try it. The crux required a dyno which made it extra interesting to watch.

Next we decided to try the Edge of Time Arete (5.9), since that was the reason we came to the Lily Lake area in the first place. It was awesome looking. I’ve never seen such a pronounced arete before in my life. I knew this would be a fun climb. The crux on this route was low down near the ground and it frustrated me. I took several very minor falls before deciding to try to hand-over-hand on the actual edge of the arete. The climbing was really cool due to the exposed nature of my right hand side as I moved up the arete. The top of the arete was was this point that jutted out into space. Standing on that was like standing on the edge of the world. It was frighten, it was awe-inspiring—in fact, I can’t really describe it. Perhaps it was the edge of time.

Longing

Longing; I feel it deeply. My soul is on a never-ending search to find something. On some days I search in hope of obtaining a better grasp of the purpose of life. On others, I thirst for peace, a better family, a girl to call my own, or most often of all, the next adventure. Somehow, I think I was made for this. I believe I was built to go on a journey. Permanent rest, certainty, and safety are anathema to my life. Like it or not, my course seems unalterable. These days, I embrace this desire for the unknown, this sense of longing. I’ve run from it long enough. There are some things about yourself that, if changed, will destroy you. Rather than attempting to mold my life into a semblance of normality I now listen that infinitely curious voice that perpetually wondered why, even as a child, and dreamed of adventures that spanned the globe. I don’t have itchy feet, I have an itchy mind. I love the very act of moving. Just going someplace makes me smile.

I’ve noticed that I connect with and love media that is centered around an all-compelling desire to go somewhere. I understand the drive to pull up all roots and move. Take music. I’ve often found myself liking songs that sing of going home. Home, for me it is both compeletly concrete and elusive. Home is where I was born. Home is wear I choose to live. But Home is also . .  . the road. The next trail. That ridgeline I’m following before dropping into a glacial valley and cresting over a gorgerous alpine pass. I don’t know what is around the bend or over that pass, but whatever it is, it compels me. The drive is deep and inflexible. I don’t believe it will ever leave me.

Tenaya Canyoneering

A short video by my good friend Nate chronicling our July 2010 descent down Tenaya Canyon.

A Wild, Wild Summer

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My climbing and deep conversation buddy Nate just told me that I sounded eerily like Christopher McCandless—after I told him that the cure for his ‘existential crisis’ was to spend 24 hours in the desert, without shoes on. I further told him that I think pain and suffering are essential for recovering mental and spiritual health. At least, they are for me.

I say this, because it seems to be the best way to introduce what is a very late in coming post, since I haven’t written anything in months. You see, it seems to take me all summer to acquire enough physical suffering to rid myself of all the angst I build up whilst at school. I suppose that sounds weird, but it’s the way I am.

This summer I returned home expecting to be attending Marine Corps Officer Candidate school, but discovered very late in the game that due to a mistake the Marines made with an eye exam that I would not be going. Between working odd jobs I spent my first two weeks at home camping in Pinnacles National monument where I logged an absurdly easy 5.5 trad lead, a top-roped strenuous classic 5.8 called ‘Ordeal’, and happily clawed my way up first ten meters of a top-roped 5.11 climb (after a gillizion tries). A week latter, I made my third attempt of Mt Shasta, taking a childhood acquaintance, and made it to the eleven thousand foot level before being turned around by a horrific weather system that threatened to collapse our tent as we spent a scary night high on Green Butte ridge. After our hellish night we descended the next morning. Altogether, this particular attempt on Shasta was the least enjoyable of all the attempts I’ve made. My gut never felt right the entire trip. I trust my gut.

Absurd amounts work followed. Next in the great adventure came a short day of climbing out on my beloved california coast. Christian, Dad, Angel and I went out to an area I hadn’t been to before named Twin Coves. I led and we climbed ‘Seagull Arete’ a 5.6, which was supposed to be fun, but was rather weird and short IMHO. We next played with TRing ‘Calimari’ 5.11b R and got exactly nowhere on. The same day we visited Goat rock, the Sonoma county standby with Christian and I knocking off ‘Pelican Arete’ 5.10, and Angel getting up ‘Sunset corner’ 5.6.

A solid month latter my friend Nate Bluedorn made the long trip up from Southern California for two days of Sonoma county climbing. First we drove east to climb at Mt Saint Helena. The day started with me being repeatedly backing off a sport face climb (not certain of name or rating), with us next TRing a 5.5 chimney. Latter we TR’ed a very fun 5.10 with really solid holds for the most part. I went on to lead a 5.7 sport face climb and a 5.9 sport face climb (these made me very happy).

The next day we visited Salt Point and climbed or tried to climb several sport routes including my ‘Free Willy’ 5.10 which would become something of a project for me. Free Willy eluded my brother Christian, Nate, and myself. Christian came the closest to succeeding on the route and I managed push the route a little higher once he was worn out. Several weeks latter all three of us came back and tried yet again with myself making it to the top by aiding off the bolts at a point or two and Christian successfully following me on TR—also needing help at points. I feel the need to free the route in the worst of ways. I’m not going to be happy until I do At least I came close to freeing it :/

By the end of July I was ready to launch what I was hoping would be the capstone of my summer adventures—a long moderate, multi-pitch on Yosemite’s iconic Half Dome. The route I had chosen, Snake Dike (5.7 R) is known for it’s extremely run out pitches, horrendous approach, long descent, and long scramble once finished with the technical climbing. Unfortunately, I had difficulty finding a partner, in fact, I asked about half a dozen people before my cousin agreed to climb with me. The trip was to include a descent of Tenaya canyon, something I had done once before, with my dad and friend Nate. The next day I was to climb Snake Dike. Due to some issues involving camping logistics and the large amount of time Tenaya takes I was only able to sleep around 4 hours before we were supposed to start our approach. Unfortunately, our campsite didn’t have cell reception, so I failed to receive a message from my cousin informing me that she was backing out of the climb the night before. Once I had recieved the message I was already in the Valley. Ironically, I discovered that my cousin cited her reason for backing out as being only being able to get 4 hours of sleep. That was the exact same amount I was about to get. Oh, well. That was the end of that.

Adventures On Shasta

I have the 27th through the 30th of this month (May 2010) blocked out for heading up to Mt Shasta, my favorite 14′er, to attempt a second and possibly a third successful summit. Several years ago, with zero planning or forethought, I headed up to Shasta and successfully summited with two climbing friends from the camp I worked at. They were shocked that I would attempt the climb with no chance to acclimatize, no tent, and with no real planning. The irony of it all was that I was, by a large margin, the first of our party to the top after our strongest climber was forced to descend due to attitude sickness and the second was made severely sick. Further heightening the irony was the fact that I generally do quite a bit of trip planning.

This last summer I recalled how much I enjoyed the horrendous pain, cold, and utter exhaustion from my first attempt and decided to give it another try. Now, I knew this was foolishness since I was completely out of shape after a year of sitting around at college with no exercise, but as an optimist I figured I might as well do it. With me came my nephew/now-climbing-partner and my brother (he took LOTS of persuasion). Since the odds of summiting with two completely rookie climbers and one-almost rookie climber (myself) were far to high I figured we should further lower our chance by climbing a harder route that none of us had been on before. Due to leadership failures on my own part our climbing team found itself lacking water and headlamps. Also, we discovered that my nephew was unable to move at the speed required to successfully summit. I myself, struggled to keep pace while my brother quickly discovered that he loved alpine climbing as he surged up the tortured ridge that would lead us up to Shasta’s magnificent summit. Finally, at 13,000 ft, a mere 1,000 feet from the top we made the difficult decision to turn around. It was clear that my nephew would never summit that day. Christian choose to go on, as he still felt strong, but he wound up turning around only 100 vertical feet from the summit due to lightening danger. A crushing blow, to be sure, but I was proud of him for being careful. Nephew and I spent several extremely painful hours struggling down the mountain and then had the frustrating pleasure of searching for our camp hidden in the alpine forest.

For once, this year I’ll actually be in some semblance of shape as I try Shasta again, but as always I’ll be climbing with someone with no experience. The good news is that he’s game enough, trying to learn, and says he’s fit, and I’m attempting to organize away Murphy’s curse so things should be good. I’m hoping to summit once with my pupil and then if the my body, nerve, and the weather hold I want to solo Casaval ridge while letting my pupil climb a well frequented route by himself. I haven’t finalized any of this nor have I completely decide which routes we’ll climb but either way it’ll be an adventure—the way I like it.

The photos are some of my favs from previous climbs.

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Canyoneering

I absolutely love canyoneering. Since I can’t descend any canyons right now, these films have been the only substitute I’ve had. They capture well how canyoneering really can feel.