| Am I Still Hip? Trip Report |
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| Am I Still Hip?   | 
| Page Type: Trip Report Location: California, United States, North America Lat/Lon: 37.03700°N / 118.618°W Date Climbed/Hiked: Sep 2, 2007 Activities: Mountaineering Season: Summer | Page By: Clydascope Created/Edited: Sep 28, 2007 / May 13, 2008 Object ID: 341844 Hits: 2171 Loading... Page Score: 91.6% - 47 Votes Loading... Vote: Log in to vote |
AftermathIt was the Tuesday after Labor Day. As I sat in the Hawkins Amphitheater in Reno watching Robert Randolph and the Family Band performing “The Hip Shake” it seemed a fitting and ironic twist on life. The band was wailing; high-energy music surged through my body. A couple dozen beautiful women swayed and churned on stage. I could barely move. My body ached. The holiday weekend adventure had taken its toll.
BeginningsTwo weeks earlier I learned I had degenerative arthritis in both my hips and I would need them replaced soon. During my discussions on the subject with the Orthopedic Surgeon in Mammoth Lakes, a climber himself, I learned many things that did not sit well. One thing that struck me was his comment “if you have any big plans in the backcountry you might want to do it now.”
Something had happened to me a few years ago. I had trouble explaining it to anyone, including myself. After 25 years as a season pass holder at various ski resorts, I decided not to get another. This was partially due to my displeasure with Mammoth Lakes’ recent changes, but there was more to it than that. I did not feel like skiing anymore, or climbing, or biking, or much of anything physical. Well, some folks might say I was still really active, but compared to the level of output that I once had I felt like I had quit my lifestyle almost completely.
A New GameThen I learned that my body is failing. This made so much sense to me. I have been in constant, yet minor pain and my body was directing my to slow down. Funny how it all works, I knew what to do without knowing I was doing it. So instead of beating my bones on foot I bought a motorcycle and explored a new realm of adventure, including a two-week ride in Chile & Argentina.
Coming Back
Earlier this summer I had begun climbing a few peaks. There was the Northwest Ridge on Hurd Peak in June. I had been up it once before and took my friend Brian up it this time, even though it was his idea. We found some solid and exposed rock. Then I was fortunate enough to join Michelle on a climb of the Northeast Ridge on Bear Creek Spire. That day the weather was perfect, the rock was perfect, the exposure was perfect. I enjoyed this climb very much. Clean white granite tasted good. I wanted more, more of that flavor. For some training I bought a new mountain bike. Plus I rode the motorcycle many miles on dirt roads.
Bear Creek Spire, July 2007 - Photo by Michelle |
WalterFor more than a year I had been holding on to some ashes from my dear friend Walter Rosenthal. Walter had died in a freak accident at Mammoth Mountain Ski Area while trying to save two of his fellow ski patrollers who had fallen into a snow cave created by volcanic venting in the deep snow pack. Unfortunately all three had died.
 Mammoth Mountain, Late 80's
Walter was a machine in the backcountry. Over the years I heard stories about so many of his adventures it was hard to imagine them all being true. Yet my experiences with him made me believe them all. I had been thinking of a tribute climb where I would toss his ashes off a summit in celebration of his life. Try as I might I had trouble getting my act together and do something that seemed fitting for this man of tremendous power and joy.
TributeRumors of an historic summit register deep in the heart of the Sierra, over 100 years old they said, got me thinking of a trip. I started to do my research and figured out where to go. I thought it would be a fitting tribute for Walter if I made a long, solo journey to see this relic. Then the news about my hips accelerated the plans. I recently read about three adventurers who had just completed a one-day trip to one of the remote, classic peaks of the range. Their comments about the loose rock not being as bad as they had expected made me change my goal.
I needed to wrangle up a partner for this escapade. There was only one person I knew that would be ready to go, strong enough and stupid enough to join me. I called Brian and told him I was planning another tribute hike for Walter and would like him to join me. Brain and I had tried to climb the Northeast ridge of Mount Baxter last year as a tribute to Walter.
Rising 9,500’ above the Owens Valley, the Northeast ridge of Mount Baxter probably would have taken two days to complete. We camped at the base of the ridge and got hammered by huge winds all night. Without a tent to protect us, Brian described the night like this; “ the wind blew so hard it was as if someone was throwing handfuls of dirt in my face and sleeping bag all night long. I looked over at you during the night and your sleeping bag looked like a wind sock at the airport during a blizzard.” No sleep that night and we both decided to bail on the idea of climbing this monster ridge. As a consolation prize we climbed an unnamed peak nearby and were only the third party to sign the register in over 25 years. And the wind was howling.
Secret PlansI did not tell Brian where I wanted to go this time. Brian’s girlfriend is a member of the local Search and Rescue team and was not pleased by the mysterious nature of the hike. But to me that only added to the adventure. I told no one where I wanted to go, including Brian, until the night before. And then I only told Brian. I left a note on my coffee table at home as we left the house at 4:30 Saturday morning of the Labor Day weekend. Our first stop was breakfast at Denny’s in Bishop and then we blasted up to South Lake. I was nervous and cautious and concerned about the weight on my hips. I had not been backpacking in a couple years. But we cruised up to the pass in great time, even received some compliments for other hikers about our speed.
Devils Crag #1 from Bishop Pass |
At the pass we got our first view of our objective. Devils Crag #1 was visible far off in the distance, and it looked scary even from here. Our decent down into the LeConte Canyon was grand. If you have never been there I would say make plans to do so. This was my third trip into the canyon and I have always called it the Yosemite Valley of the high country. Huge granite peaks and walls surround the Middle Fork of the Kings River as it winds through forests and meadow. We stopped at Grouse Meadows, around 15 miles from the trailhead.
Next Day
Sometime during the night Brian woke and started to prepare breakfast. I questioned what time it was (neither of us had a watch) and we both fell back to sleep. When we woke again it was already getting light and in hindsight we should have gotten going when Brian first started moving, even though I really didn’t want to try crossing the Middle Fork of the Kings River in darkness.
But as it turned out we were a few hours late getting started. After eating and packing up camp we headed out. The meadow had a layer of fog hanging low and it looked very eerie. Down river a short bit we found a log jam that allowed us access to the opposite shore without too much difficulty. From here it was a steep slippery climb up to a ridgeline that formed the northern edge of the Rambaud Creek drainage. As we crossed over the ridge and traversed the slope to the creek proper we stopped and made mental notes on how to return. We also got our first close view of the day’s objective.
Devils Crags |
Rambaud PassFrom Bishop Pass it was clear that the Northwest Aręte of Devils Crag #1 would be a tough outing. Now it was looking even more intimidating. But Rambaud Creek and the surrounding views were marvelous. Up we went, until finally reaching the dreaded talus fields to the pass. It was a struggle without a doubt, yet we kept a good pace. The pass was loose scree and a bit of a grind. Once on the pass we finally took a breather and had lunch.
Rambaud Creek |
It was obviously later than we had hoped for. I was moving stiffly and feeling very tired. When lunch was done (a small snack really) I commented on the time and my physical condition. I could see the first summit I had planned for this trip and it was not too far away. Debating on which way to go I decided to let Walter make the decision. I grabbed a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale bottle cap and tossed it into the air. Walter introduced me to this delicious beer and was well know to drink plenty of them. If the bottle cap came to rest with the words on top, we would go to Devils Crag #1, otherwise we would take an easier path. The bottle cap bounced once before landing. Off we went to the Devils Crags.
Arete
A short step above the pass and one gets a full view of the Northwest Aręte. I was trembling at the sight of it. This would take everything I had to complete, and maybe a bit more. As we descended to the rotten traverse below White Top my fear boiled over. At the notch where the aręte proper starts I told Brian I was not feeling confident about the climb and was considering turning back. Brain was very solid and suggested we try the first section to see how it felt. Up and down we went, me feeling cautious, Brian feeling strong. We traded leads for the most part, but anchors and protection were hard to come by. I snapped a couple times and ripped on Brian for the seemingly useless anchor he had arranged, only to find myself in the same boat on the next pitch.
NW Arete |
About halfway along the aręte I lost it. I wanted to go home. Brian kept his cool and talked me out of my panic, then continued up. In due time it was clear that we were going to make the summit. The final section was not difficult but massive exposure kept our attention. At one point I knocked a rock down the north face. I watched it tumbled and crash for a thousand feet, giving me a dizzy, nauseating sensation. Brain said softly and calmly “let it go.” I reached the summit first and marveled at the view. It was getting late and we did not stick around for long, just enough time to scan the register, add our comments and toss Walter’s ashes off the summit.
The View |
Retrace Your Steps
We started the descent by down climbing without the rope. For some reason I felt better to be free of the lifeline. That is until the first steep section. Then we managed to find a short rappel followed by more down climbing. That’s how it went for the next couple hours, down climb, rappel, down climb, rappel. Finally we made it back to the rotten traverse below White Top, followed by 150 feet of climbing and then a stumble back to the pass. By now it was really late, maybe and hour or two before sunset. I knew we had to get down the talus before dark or we would be screwed.
 Late afternoon at Rambaud Pass
Luckily the loose scree of the pass was quick going and we weaved through the talus as fast as we could. I was beat and sore. Just below the lowest lake on Rambaud Creek the headlamps came out. We could not find the spot where our traverse had intersected the creek on the hike in. After a short discussion about whether it would be better to bivy at the creek or attempt the traverse in the dark we left the water and started across the steep side hill. Brian took a high traversing line; I tried to stay on a level course. All the landmarks we had scoped out on the hike in were invisible in the darkness. Brain kept calling down for me to come up and join him; I kept yelling back that he was too high. This went on until we turned the corner on what was supposed to be our ridge crossing. Instead of the clear avalanche chute down to Grouse Meadows all we could see was blackness, a big void. Brian came down to where I was and conceded that we were lost. BivouacIt turned out that we had crested the ridge about 500 feet higher than we needed to be, and cliff bands were everywhere. A short discussion on trying to traverse a little more was quickly concluded when Brian tossed a rock off the edge of the ridge and we listened to it tumble and crash for several hundred feet. We both were spent and gave in to the fact that we would be spending the night right here. We staggered around looking for a comfortable place to sleep, and then realized we low enough to have a fire legally so Brian built a small fire ring and we searched for wood. We then ate the remaining food left over from lunch; put on all of the clothing we had and let the fire die out.
Bivouac |
Several hours later I woke up shivering. I had my legs inside my pack and felt very claustrophobic. Brian had the rope draped over him and was shivering too. We cranked up the fire again and took turns keeping it going while the other tried to sleep. It was a long night. When the half moon rose we could see across the void in front of us and realized what a huge mistake it would have been to continue on. As the sky began to brighten near dawn we were finally able to see where we needed to go. But our bivy location had been spectacular and I think Walter would have been proud.Cowboy Coffee
Down we went to get back on track. I was not feeling well, my muscles ached, my hips felt stiff and I was groggy from lack of sleep. In an hour or so we were back at the river crossing, laughing about how difficult it would have been to find it in the dark. A short distance up the John Muir trail and we reached camp. As we arrived in camp it was obvious that someone had taken over our sight. We met two packers and two hikers that had started at Kearsarge Pass many days before. Brain boldly asked if that was coffee steaming away on the fire and soon we were drinking the cowboy brew, eating their leftover hash browns, hard-boiled eggs and grapefruit. We spent about a half hour taking with them before packing up and hiking out.
Going Home
Along the way we met several beautiful women, including a group of 12 on a “Spa Retreat.” Brain offered to be their Massage Therapist for the trip; they got a good laugh out of it. Climbing back up to the Dusy Basin was a struggle, it was hot and the relentless switchbacks kicked my butt. We met the Wilderness Ranger from LeConte Canyon, the same guy who had thrown us out of the Bubbs Creek drainage a few years ago when he was stationed at Charlotte Lake for not having a bear canister. By the time we were up higher in the Dusy Basin I was reaching the end of my physical endurance. I told Brian to go on ahead, that I needed to lie down and eat something. At one point I almost collapsed, throwing my pack to the ground I lay down on a granite slab and passed out for 10 minutes or so. I got up and without eating, pressed on. Finally I met Brain at the pass. He waited for me to get a quick snack and soon we headed down the east side.
The hike out from here seemed to breeze by, I was feeling much better, my hips loosened up and my stride was smoother. In a couple hours we were at the trailhead. It was 5:15. A half hour later I was home. Brian had another half hour drive ahead to reach his house in Mammoth Lakes. All I wanted to do was shower, eat and sleep. I succeeded in accomplishing these goals without difficulty.AftermathThe next day I drove to Reno and toured the Hawkins Amphitheater in the afternoon. Then I went to check in at the Atlantis Casino, when I ran into friends who were returning from Burning Man. We joked about who looked more trashed. That evening I gorging myself on all you can eat sushi, another tribute to Walter. Later, as I sat in the Hawkins Amphitheater in Reno watching Robert Randolph and the Family Band performing “The Hip Shake” it seemed a fitting and ironic twist on life. It was the Tuesday after Labor Day.
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Devils Crags > Am I Still Hip?
