| Blood, Pride, and Marmot S**T Trip Report |
Geography Parents  Loading... Trip Reports Trip Reports Trip Reports Trip Reports
| Blood, Pride, and Marmot S**T   | 
| Page Type: Trip Report Location: California, United States, North America Date Climbed/Hiked: Jun 30, 2005 Activities: Mountaineering, Scrambling | Page By: Bob Sihler Created/Edited: Mar 1, 2007 / Sep 27, 2007 Object ID: 274644 Hits: 1031 Loading... Page Score: 88.72% - 10 Votes Loading... Vote: Log in to vote |
Yosemite National Park-- July 2005Seized by wanderlust one afternoon in July 1999, I left camp and ended up atop one of the Kearsarge Pinnacles. What I saw and felt there changed me forever, and I left the Sierra Nevada that summer a climber, no longer a hiker. My love of the Rockies kept me out of the High Sierra until 2005, when I decided I had to go back and tackle a few notable summits. How I envy those of you who live closer and can explore the lesser-known gems of the Range of Light!
It had been six years since I had been in the High Sierra, and I’d forgotten how magnificent the rock is there. There is so much of it, and it’s so sheer, with such awesome cracks. I chose three summits, all because they are prominent and easily done as day trips, but for other reasons as well. Cathedral Peak--- it offers great free solo opportunities and is just one of the most striking peaks anywhere in the country. Mount Conness—the highest Yosemite peak north of Tioga Pass. Mount Dana--- Yosemite’s second-highest, highest attainable in a day, and offering a good snow climb as an alternative to the popular standard route.
I climbed the peaks in ascending order by height and on consecutive days.
(Pride) Cathedral Peak—Mountaineers Route—Tuesday, July 12
Approaching Cathedral, I managed to miss the turnoff for the way to follow the Mountaineers Route. This is an unofficial trail and is hence unmarked, and I failed to spot it where I was supposed to. Nearby, I saw a pile of deadfall blocking a use trail, and I figured rangers had closed an illegal path. Looking back, I figure that was the way I was supposed to go.
Instead, I bushwhacked in the direction I was supposed to be heading, scrambled over the Cathedral massif and headed for a pinnacle I initially mistook as the true summit, enjoyed views of a tarn and cliffs that few probably bother to check out, and eventually wound up where I was supposed to after exerting considerably more effort than I was supposed to. From there, it was fun and mostly quick scrambling to the summit block.
I almost did not finish Cathedral. Guidebooks and route descriptions often overstate difficulties and dangers, but this time was the opposite. The SP route description I used called the final move, only fifteen feet, an easy Class 4 crack, and the remark that some people uncomfortable with the exposure choose to rope up for it had a slight whiff of disdain to it. Well, the crack was easy enough, but the exposure beneath the base of the summit pitch, even the exposure along the ten or so feet leading to the summit pitch, was unnerving and meant no errors. Standing on the ledge below the pitch left just a few inches between me and the edge, and even turning around was scary. The cost of a mistake would have been a few hundred feet of empty air.
Thinking of my son Jack and how he might need a father as he grew up, I left the ledge and climbed a block next to and almost as high as the summit one, and I took pictures of the Echo Peaks and of myself from that spot. I went back to the crack and back to the lower block again, still thinking the true summit just wasn’t worth the risk. Then I started to leave, but my pride nagged at me, so I went back once more. I left my pack behind and stepped back to the ledge and the base of the crack.
Getting up was never my fear; getting down was. Only rarely had I faced in while downclimbing, so my inexperience with that position gave me pause, and I knew facing out was not going to work. Well, I climbed up a few feet and then, facing in, went back down. Then I climbed a little higher, almost to the top, and went down again, testing whether my feet, unaided by my eyes, could both reach and find the two spots key to my safe descent. They could and did.
Finally, convinced I could do it and that I had spent too much time there to quit, I mustered my nerve and climbed to the top, a tiny granite block that holds just two people comfortably. It was quick, easy, and fun. Going down was no problem, either.
In the climbing world, it often works that way, doesn’t it?
(Marmot S**T and an APB) Mount Conness—East Ridge via Alpine Lake—Wednesday, July 13
There was still a lot of snow in the mountains, which is what made this ascent harder than it needed to be, but that also made it more fun.
I had no trouble finding and following the trail into the basin at the base of the ascent, and all I can really say about it is that the views got nicer as I went, there was a lot of clear running water, and I kept moving so the legion mosquitoes didn’t have a chance to land on me.
Things got a little vague when the trail ended and I had to find a way up the benches to the ridges above. There were occasional cairns, but if there was an organized system to them, I missed it. But with a map and the ability to read it, though, it was just a matter of finding a route that worked.
All the snow meant more obstacles to cross or avoid--- snowbanks of questionable stability and mercurial depth, seemingly endless cascades whose beauty compensated for the backtracking and tricky maneuvering they sometimes caused, and wet, slippery rock. There also was a copious amount of marmot droppings about, and I got a handful once. You can bet I appreciated all the water around then.
It was my intent to ascend via the east ridge, but I found myself angling more toward Alpine Lake as I found what seemed to be the safest way up the benches. Later, from higher up, I would be able to identify the way I had wanted and aim for it on my descent. Eventually, I found myself on some cliffs that suddenly yielded a view of still-frozen Alpine Lake a couple hundred feet below me. Rather than descend to the lake only to climb the talus at its other end, I stuck to the cliffs for some fun Class 3-4 scrambling and moves until I reached the basin above the lake and below Conness's east ridge. I recommend this route to anyone who likes a little extra fun and challenge. There is occasional mild exposure, but nothing scary, and you get to use your hands a lot.
The basin was full of snow--- sometimes it was hard enough to walk on while making almost no impression, and at other times I sank. Compounding the footing troubles were the snow cups all over the place. I was glad I brought my ice axe--- I hadn't expected to need it but thought I should be prepared--- because it was a great aid as I ascended steep snow slopes from the basin to the east ridge, where there are great views north and south.
From the east ridge, there was some Class 2+ climbing on broken but mostly good rock to the summit plateau; I thought this was the most physically taxing part of the climb. From the plateau, the summit loomed nearby, and it took maybe 15 minutes to reach. It is supposed to be an easy Class 3 scramble, but I don't see how it's even that. I used my hands maybe three times and probably didn't NEED to use them at all.
The views were spectacular, and they included the Tuolumne Meadows area, Cathedral Peak, Mt. Dana (which I would climb the next day), Mt. Lyell, and parts of Yosemite Valley. I took the east ridge down until I ran into the trail again.
The scenery in this area was spectacular, and I thought it was overall the nicest scenery along the three climbs I did in the Yosemite area that week. Somewhere near my rejoining the real trail, I stopped for a drink and a brief rest, and I accidentally left my tan Lake City, Colorado, hat on the ground there. I liked that hat, and if you ever find it, please let me know! Reward offered: shipping costs, my gratitude, and a cold beer if ever we meet.
(Blood) Mount Dana via Dana Couloir—Thursday, July 14
“Pink Snow” would be a better title for this section, but it might raise eyebrows and turn me into a forum subject. “Blood” is so much safer and so much more appealing, isn’t it? Reminds me a little of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn when the Duke and the Dauphin guarantee an audience for their show by writing “Ladies and Children Not Admitted” on their announcement.
As the trail leading to the Dana Lakes petered out in tundra-like meadows about a half-mile before the first of the lakes, I felt obligated to minimize my trampling of the fragile vegetation, so I headed to the nearby talus slopes and planned to traverse to the lakes that way. Ecologically, this made perfect sense. In all other respects, it was stupid. In addition to adding considerable amounts of downclimbing and reclimbing to my route, it also resulted in a nice gash on one hand when I stumbled on some rocks and ignominiously fell forward and got a close-up view of the rocks. Usually, there’s a pretty woman around when such things happen to me. This time, fortunately, there was no one else around.
That nice gash also bled a nice amount. Too lazy to get some bandages from the first aid kit in my pack, I just wiped my hand on snow occasionally, leaving a series of pink blazes behind me until the bleeding eventually stopped, which wasn’t until well up into the Dana Couloir. Note to those getting ready to make some wry remark: the snow was pink not because I am some curious specimen but because the red blood mingled with the wet snow, thus producing the pinkish tinges.
But I finally got to the Dana Lakes and climbed to the talus and snow slopes between them and the Dana Couloir. After a rest and some pictures, I crossed to the base of the couloir after dismissing an attempt of a closer one that looked much steeper and possibly unstable. The couloir wasn’t exactly icy, but the snow was often packed hard enough to make crampons a great aid if not an outright necessity. Using my crampons, ice axe, and someone’s abandoned trekking pole, I climbed to the top without any significant incidents, stopping a few times to readjust and tighten my crampons.
From there, Class 2 hiking up Mount Dana’s south ridge takes one to the summit. Because there were scattered patches of steep snow along the ridge and I didn’t want to deal with the on-again, off-again hassle of crampons in such conditions, I found a Class 3 rock route just below the ridge along its east side, finally climbing to the ridge proper just before the summit. I reached the summit and found myself both alone and the first to reach it that day, and for almost half an hour I enjoyed my solitary views from what might be Yosemite’s most popular mountain summit. The views were spectacular and unobstructed in all directions, and the highlights for me were snow-draped Mount Lyell to the south and, to the east, the expanse of Mono Lake, where, knee in the snow, I had proposed to my wife on December 23, 1997.
The standard route between Dana and Tioga Pass was my descent choice, but I almost wish I’d gone back to the Dana Couloir and made a fast glissade down it instead. It was still pretty early in the morning and the trail wasn’t terribly crowded yet, but the first half it, a steep path through ankle- and knee-jarring talus, was just no fun at all. But it was fast, and it only took about an hour to reach Tioga Pass, from which point I hiked down the road and back to my car at the parking area overlooking Tioga Lake.
So Long, SierraIt was hard leaving Yosemite the next morning. The weather had been perfect all week and the climbing had been great. Routes up Unicorn Peak, Echo Peaks, and Lembert Dome were calling to my eyes, legs, and heart. But it’s always a good idea to leave a little unfinished business in the mountains; never do I want to leave them with the feeling that I’ve done all I want to do there. Images
|
|
Yosemite National Park > Blood, Pride, and Marmot S**T
