| Kwyjibo: An Ascent of Norman Clyde Peak Trip Report |
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| Kwyjibo: An Ascent of Norman Clyde Peak   | 
| Page Type: Trip Report Location: California, United States, North America Lat/Lon: 37.07500°N / 118.4719°W Date Climbed/Hiked: Jul 21, 1990 | Page By: Clydascope Created/Edited: Jan 5, 2005 / Oct 21, 2006 Object ID: 169771 Hits: 599 Loading... Page Score: 0% - 0 Votes Loading... Vote: Log in to vote |
In July of 1990 I climbed Norman Clyde Peak with my good friend David and wrote the following a few days later…
Kwyjibo: An Ascent of Norman Clyde Peak
On a cool and clear summer morning the first spark of daylight ignited the summit. After reciting the “101 reasons not to go climbing”, David and I decide to forgo our intended plans of doing battle on the Twilight Pillar, opting for the less serious Firebird Ridge. Owing to it’s 4th class rating, we left all traces of the tools normally associated with climbing in camp. This then was the start of a day of adventure in the High Sierra.
As with most adventures, things move at a slow pace until, before you know it, trouble is jumping down your throat. We proceeded trudging up the endless talus slope above Finger Lake until finally reaching the headwall. This formation is a couple hundred feet in height and has been carved by the ceaseless action of the Middle Palisade glacier. From a distance we had been scouting for a weakness in the cliff, hopes of avoiding the continued talus beating if we went around the headwall added incentive to the search. Once over the difficulties of the headwall we would be perched atop the slender aręte which would be our highway to the sky.
There appeared to be a ramp/chimney system near the shortest portion of the headwall. David led off and I followed a short distance behind. The difficulties started early; a short lieback here, stem a little there, step across the loose stuff quickly, back in the chimney, now out onto the ramp, getting high fast, white granite changes to black and back to white. The conversation was limited; “was that 5th class or what?, watch out, it’s loose here, it’s a bit airy isn’t it?, Whoa, Killer”. And then it was over, David about three minutes ahead of me.
We discussed the rating of the solo, 5.5-5.6? It was hard but it went smoothly. Being a touch wimpy on the free solo business, it was too easy to be both pleased and frightened by what had just happened. Looking upward I began to realize that the frightening feeling would be continuing for some time. Above us stood the Firebird Ridge, aka: the North-Northeast Ridge.
First climbed by Arkel Erb and M. McNichols in July of 1961, it has proven to be a popular line of access ever since. To stay on the ridge involved 5.9 climbing, staying to the right side was reported as 4th class, steep, sustained, shadowed and exposed. We crossed onto the face and started up. The rock was cold, my mouth was dry and my mind tensed. Upward and away, wandering, re-tracing, discussions, testing, mantles followed ledges which followed corners that emerged from chimneys, these went on and up and on. 3rd class climbing was a minority, 4th class dominated. Luckily I found only one particularly difficult spot…
David had traversed onto a big face section – it was too much for me. I down climbed to a ledge and followed it to a crack. It went easy for 40 feet, and then ended with some delicate face climbing. At this point I lost it, not able to get my body to do what my mind wanted was a wild experience. Or was it the other way around, the mind said no? Either way I reached an impasse. After many minutes and a few test runs I committed to the moves, ending in a dynamic lunge to a sharp but unknown hand hold and a couple smears with my feet. The internal dialog had been strong; “easy now, careful, don’t fuck up, oh boy, whoa man!” I figured it was 5.9ish with a death fall and in a pair of light hiking boots.
David had been waiting patiently for me after he crossed the face section. A couple times he called down to me, my answers came in a voice that was foreign to me. His patience was greatly appreciated. A number of times I had been ready to loose my shit and if he had said anything to provoke my ire it would have been ugly. After I got off the harder stuff he told me he knew how close I had come to blowing a gasket and remained quite because of it.
We kept going, I suggested staying close to the ridge, and David thought it would be easier to traverse farther to the right. Straight up is where we went. Getting close to the Sierra Crest we came to a big dihedral formed by the intersection of the crest and the ridge we had climbed. It was steep, it was loose, it was cold, it was intimidating, it was spectacular, it was exposed and it was ours! Again, David led, I followed. Slow and steady, make sure every hold is good and don’t fall!
All along the climb we kept finding rappel stations, David cleaned most of them, I got one piton. On the top of the crest was a huge anchor point for everyone who climbed the peak (not really but by the looks of it you would think this.) David took one carabineer and left the rest. We topped out on the west summit and viewed the main summit; it took another 20 minutes to reach the high point. And what a place indeed! The land dropped away so fast in all directions I felt like I was moving, like the ground was moving, away, down. Vast and distant views appeared but I was blind to them. We sat on a small sandy ledge about 25 feet below the summit on the sunny west side.
I drank some and noticed how shaky my hand was and packed a bowl. Taking small hits we smoked the green bud nervously. David wondered if we should get high, I felt like a tobacco addict who needs a cigarette bad. And as with the nicotine fix, the pot calmed me down. Eating lunch helps, two poptarts and a cup of coffee are not what you would call a power breakfast. I was feeling better but the idea of down climbing this thing had me anxious. After some photos and trying to name all the peaks visible we started down.
The plan was to follow the crest past the big anchor we had passed on the way up and get on to the north face proper. I realized at this point that my camera had no film – nothing from yesterday’s climb of the east face direct of Middle Palisade, no shots of this incredible summit. I was so glad to have given David the small camera and two rolls of film.
Anyway, down the ridge we went, and what a beautiful, delicate knife edge of rock it was, barely big enough to straddle in places, dropping a couple thousand feet on either side. David followed the branch out so far from the trunk that his head was above the leaves. Turned back, we tried to descend the west side and hit the slender sinew of earth at a lower point. This didn’t work. We climbed back up to the big anchor.
David had taken about 100 feet of webbing from all the rappel anchors and said we could use it if necessary. He then dropped into the cold corner and I felt death. The glacier below would be our resting place in case of a slip. Descending the 60 feet of vertical rock, David stepped aside to be clear of any rock fall. Now it was my turn.
I talked myself down, out of the back of my head come words of assurance; “it’s only 4th class, you can do this, it’s not that hard, be careful, take your time.” At the same time the voice that had emerged earlier was back, telling me about death; “one mistake now and it’s over, this is the place I am going to die, I’m wearing the shirt my nephews put their hand prints in paint, I’m going to die wearing this shirt, they are going to find my mangled body in this shirt”
It was a real noisy place in my head. I can’t say how long it was but eventually I was standing next to David. He took off and I followed. We went close to the way we had come up, following a line of ducks. Things went slow and I knew the difficult face section was still coming. David found a different way around and he flew down it with ease. I started down and choked. Dead in the water. The voices started up again, I was ready to snap. Then, with no lead in, it came… “Kwyjibo.” What? David called it out again “Kwyjibo.” What kind of work is that? “remember, it was Bart Simpson playing scrabble with Homer.” Suddenly I was seeing the show and laughing quietly. I climbed down saying Kwyjibo! Upon reaching David we laughed about the show and I drank some water. Down we went, things felt better, I was moving fast and soon we crossed the ridge and onto the sloping talus field – Yeah!
Stopping to drink I began to notice the view again, it was getting late, the shadows were growing fast. Instead of descending the steep headwall we climbed on the way up, we followed the ridge north, which turned out to be 4th class and time consuming. Finally we crossed onto the jumbled talus and scree that led down to Finger Lake. The feeling of relief and release from the stress was phenomenal, I was free again. We ran up to the summit of “Firebird Peak”, Peak 12,640’. It was on the summit that I reflected on a thought that passed through me during the day. I told David that “I’ve been wrassling the grim reaper all day; he’s had his sycle to my neck a few times.” We filled a bowl and smoked hardily. I was empty inside and yet I was whole. We watched the sun dip behind Mount Sill before leaving for camp.
Staggering down the loose slopes of the peak I was happy to be where I was, with who I was with and doing what I was doing. It was dark when we got into camp, the peaks still visible in the twilight.
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Palisades
